


There and Back Again : From Bag End to Baker Street

by FourCornersHolmes



Series: The Assorted & Collected Misadventures of John H. Watson, RAMC, MD [18]
Category: Sherlock (TV), The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alcoholic Harry Watson, All Hail The King, All The Ships, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, BAMF John Watson, Bilbo Baggins is John Watson, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Don't copy to another site, Genderswap, Greg Lestrade & John Watson Friendship, John is a Saint, M/M, Mrs. Hudson is "Mister" Hudson, Multiple Pairings, Mycroft Holmes IS the British Government, Mycroft is a Bit Not Good, Mycroft's Meddling, Past Lives, Past Lives are weird, Protective Thorin, Reincarnation, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes is Smaug (Tolkien), Sherlock is a Brat, Thorin wants his Burglar back, bagginshield
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2020-08-11 05:09:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 39,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20148175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourCornersHolmes/pseuds/FourCornersHolmes
Summary: What if things aren't exactly what they seem? What if reincarnation was a thing? And beyond that, memories of past lives are retained. Enter John Watson, a fairly normal every-man with a habit of going on "adventures", anything from a few days to a few months. He just ... goes where the road leads him. But the adventurous child grows into a man and his nomadic ways come to an end as he joined the British Army. For another thirteen years, he goes where the Army sends him and serves his country as an army doctor. It's what happens after his service ends that makes things interesting. Well, more interesting, in any case. Not that his career was anything close to boring.





	1. Battleborn

**Author's Note:**

> **  
This is the strangest what-if I've come up with to date, I think. Basically, I dipped my toes in the fandom pool again and fell right over the deep end into Bagginshield. An OTP I didn't know I needed! So, here's a weird little past lives/reincarnation fic of what happens when John Watson and Bilbo Baggins are one and the same. Enjoy!  
**  
Things are rough after John gets discharged from the British Army, but he never in a million years thought he'd end up flat-mates with a dragon! Some part of that sounds like a VERY bad idea. But then, he meets DI Thomas Oakley, and things go from interesting to downright mind-blowing. A certain reincarnated Dwarf King has been searching for his Burglar and let's just say: Thorin Oakenshield does not share nicely. Let alone with Smaug, an old enemy of his from quite literally AGES AGO. London ain't Middle Earth, but don't tell Thorin.  
**  


**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war is over, the battle is won, but the price is too dear. Bilbo Baggins is forced to bury one of his dearest friends at the end of it all, three in total. He has made his peace with Thorin Oakenshield, it was one of the last things they were able to do for each other, but the loss will sit heavy in his soul for the rest of his days. Victory is bitter when your loved ones aren't there to celebrate with you.

* * *

* * *

November 23 2941

Ravenhill, The Lonely Mountain, Erebor,

Middle Earth

The battle was done, the enemy had been vanquished, the White Orc was dead. But Bilbo Baggins could take no relief nor joy in victory. He was lying on the ruins of Ravenhill, and no one was near. Well, no one _living_, at any rate. A cloudless day, but cold, was broad above him. He was shaking, and as chilled as stone, but his head burned with fire. He couldn’t remember much, but he suspected he’d been knocked down during the fighting, by miracle he hadn’t been killed. Whatever it was, he’d taken a serious blow to the head, going by the feel of things.

He sat up painfully. Looking into the valley he could see no living goblins. After a while, as his head cleared a little, he thought he could see elves moving in the rocks below. He rubbed his eyes. Surely there was a camp still in the plain some distance off; and there was a coming and going about the Gate? Dwarves seemed to be busy removing the wall. But all was deadly still. There was no call and no echo of a song. Sorrow seemed to be in the air.

“Victory, after all, I suppose!” he said. “Well, it seems a very gloomy business.” Victory, indeed, but at what bitter price had it been got?

As Bilbo sat amid the ruin of battle on Ravenhill, someone came to find him. It was Bard of Dale, one of his companions, who came for him. But Bard didn’t see him at first, because Bilbo was wearing his ring, and so was invisible. He had put the ring on early in the madness and rarely taken it off, save for once or twice.

“Master Baggins!” Bard called, searching among the flat stones and Orc corpses for any sign him, “Bilbo? Where are you, lad!”

“Here I am, Bard!” Bilbo cried, taking off his ring and showing himself. “Here I am! What news?”

“It is well that I have found you! You are needed and we have spent hours searching for you.” said the man striding forward. “You would have been numbered among the dead, who are many, if Gandalf the wizard had not said that your voice was last heard in this place. I came up here to look for you one last time. Are you much hurt?”

“A nasty knock on the head, I think,” Bilbo said, looking up at the kind but cautious man who had helped his company so much before this last mix-up. “But I have a helm and a hard skull. All the same I feel sick and doubt I could walk.”

“I will carry you down to the camp in the valley,” said the man, and picked him lightly up.

Bard was swift and sure-footed and it was not long before Bilbo was set down before a tent in Dale; and there stood Gandalf, with his arm in a sling. Even the wizard had not escaped without a wound; and there were few unharmed in all the host. When Gandalf saw Bilbo, he was delighted.

“Baggins!” he exclaimed. “Well I never! Alive after all—I am glad! I began to wonder if even your luck would see you through!”

“I found him among the dead of Ravenhill, Gandalf.” Bard said, putting one hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “It’s just as well one of us went up for a last search, or we never would have found him.”

“Thank you, Bard, for your aid in recovering Master Baggins.” Gandalf looked at them, his expression quite grim. “A terrible business, and it nearly was disastrous. But other news can wait. Come!” he said more gravely. “You are called for;” and leading the hobbit he took him within the tent. It was Balin, one of his thirteen Dwarven companions, who met them inside. And he knew before the Dwarf said anything that his news was ill and unwelcome.

“The King, lad,” He said in the same broken, tearful tone he had taken when Thorin had turned on Bilbo and accused him of treason for taking the Arkenstone and giving it to Thranduil of Mirkwood and Bard of Esgaroth.

Bilbo had, with the help of his few remaining friends among the party and a bit of cleverness, escaped Erebor in time to keep his head on his shoulders. But when war had come to Erebor, he fought alongside the Dwarves and Elves and Men to push back and defeat the armies that marched under the banner of Azog the Defiler. Bilbo had rushed to the summit of Ravenhill to warn Thorin of the ambush, using the ring he’d stolen from Gollum in the tunnels under Goblin-Town to get there undetected. But he had been too late, and had become separated from Thorin a second time. And now…now…Oh god.

Bilbo followed Balin to where they had lain the fallen King of Erebor. He saw Beorn nearby and hesitated for only a moment before he rushed to Thorin’s side.

“Thorin! Thorin?” He whispered, taking Thorin’s hand in his. “Thorin, please wake up. It’s ... Bilbo.” To his relief, Thorin’s eyes fluttered and opened. When he managed to focus on Bilbo, his expression relaxed into some semblance of relief.

“I'm glad you're here.” Thorin’s voice was hoarse and it was obvious he was not long for the world. “I wish to part with you in friendship.”

“No. You're not going anywhere, Thorin.” Bilbo shook his head. “You're going to live.”

“I would take back my words and my deeds at the Gate. You did what only a true friend would do. Forgive me. I was too blind to see it.” The breath rattled in his chest, a wet, horrible sound, and Bilbo climbed onto the narrow bed. There was hardly enough room for both of them, but neither of them cared for what was proper, and no one was going to tell them otherwise.

“I am so sorry... that I have lead you to such peril... ” He trailed off in a coughing fit, Bilbo just held him tighter, sliding one arm under the Dwarf Lord’s shoulders to prop him up.

“No! I am glad to have shared in your perils, Thorin.” Bilbo objected, trying to keep his panic and grief at bay, his hand tangled with Thorin’s. “Each and every one of them. It is far more than any Baggins deserves!”

“No!” said Thorin, his tone firm and his voice strong. “There is more in you of good than you know, child of the kindly West. Some courage and some wisdom, blended in measure.” Thorin tried to smile, his grip tightened in Bilbo’s with surprising strength. But that strength was fast waning, Thorin’s time was desperately short. Bilbo bowed his head, filled with sorrow.

“Perhaps in … another life, we may … meet again. Go back to your books ... and your armchair ... plant your trees, watch them grow.”

“No! No, no, no! No! Thorin! Thorin ... don't you dare!” Bilbo said with a firmness he did not feel as he cradled Thorin.

“Farewell, Master Burglar. If more people ... valued home above gold ... this world would be a merrier ... place... ”

“Thorin ... hold on. Hold on. Thorin!” But it was no use, there was no life left in the body he clung to. Thorin was dead, just like that. No warning, just … nothing.

Then Bilbo turned away, and he went by himself and sat alone wrapped in a blanket. Bilbo finally lost the will to remain strong, he felt suddenly exhausted and so very empty, and began to weep. And he wept until his eyes were red and his voice was hoarse. Balin and Gandalf and Beorn and Bard were all wise enough to know he would welcome no company and simply left him alone to grieve in his own fashion. 

“A mercy it is,” he said at last to himself, speaking mostly to himself, “that I woke up when I did. I wish Thorin were living, but I am glad that we parted in kindness.” It was more than he had hoped for, more than he deserved to hear Thorin ask forgiveness for his rash words and actions while under the influence of Dragonsickness when it was Bilbo who had wronged.

“You are a fool, Bilbo Baggins, and you made a great mess of that business with the stone; and there was a battle, in spite of all your efforts to buy peace and quiet, but I suppose you can hardly be blamed for that,” Bilbo muttered, knowing that his Tookish recklessness had done more damage than good, but there was nothing to be done for it.

The bodies of the slain were collected and, for those of Men, Elves, and Dwarves, made ready for appropriate burial. Those of the Goblins and Orcs were piled and burned. The Dwarves took Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli, who had all three been slain upon Ravenhill, and laid them upon three stone beds deep within The Lonely Mountain. Fíli and Kíli had fallen defending Thorin with shield and body, for he was their mother’s elder brother.

Bard of Dale laid the Arkenstone upon Thorin’s breast, within folded hands.

“There let it lie till the Mountain falls!” he said. “May it bring good fortune to all his folk that dwell here after!”

King Thranduil laid the sword Orcrist, that that had been taken from Thorin in captivity, in the king’s hands as well.

Bilbo said nothing, and he was hardly aware of anyone who spoke to him. But when he was alone with Thorin, the others giving their respects to the brothers, he leaned in and pressed his lips to the cold brow one last time.

“I do believe you’re right, Thorin. I think we will meet again.” He spoke softly, “Not in this life, but maybe in another one. May luck be with us and we will know each other as old friends. Sleep in peace, my dearest friend. Goodbye.” Turning, Bilbo took his leave of the tombs and went back to his rooms. He wanted to go home, but that would have to wait a bit longer.

It was some days before Bilbo really set out, and he had every intention of leaving quietly. But he did stop to say goodbye to Balin, who really had been a good friend to him even when Thorin was losing his mind.

“Could you tell the others I say goodbye?” He said as they shook hands.

“Nah, laddie.” Balin just smiled in that funny way of his. “Tell them yourself.” Bilbo turned and saw that the Company has come to see him off. Well, so much for leaving quietly.

“Leaving without a proper farewell, Burglar?” Dwalin asked in a sly and teasing tone.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Dwalin!” Bilbo laughed. “Goodbye, Dwalin and Balin! Farewell, Bofur! Goodbye, friends! May your beards never grow thin!”

And turning towards the Mountain he added: “Farewell Thorin Oakenshield! And Fili and Kili! May your memory never fade!” Then the dwarves bowed low before their Gate, but words stuck in their throats.

“Good-bye and good luck, wherever you fare!” said Balin at last. “If ever you visit us again, when our halls are made fair once more, then the feast shall indeed be splendid!”

“If ever you are passing my way, don’t wait to knock!” Bilbo smiled at all of them, “Tea is at four; but any of you are welcome at any time!”

“Goodbye, Bilbo.” Bofur came out of the Company and gave him a strong hug. “I wish you all the luck in the world. I really do.” It was the same thing Bofur had said to him so long ago when they were still trying to cross the Misty Mountains, before they had been captured by the Goblins and Bilbo had encountered Gollum and come upon his magic ring.

“Good luck to you, Bofur. Please come and visit.” He said with a sad smile as he and Bofur clapped each other on the shoulders. Then he turned away. It was time to go home.

Of the twelve companions of Thorin, ten remained. Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli had all died in the Battle of the Five Armies; and Bilbo was returning to The Shire, to Bag End. The others would stay on with Dain Ironfoot, who had come to Thorin’s aid when called upon; for Dain had taken his kinsman’s crown as King Under the Mountain and dealt his treasure well.

A small share of that treasure had been granted to Bilbo by Bard, who would always be in his memory as a good friend, and he left Erebor with two small chests loaded upon a sturdy pony. He travelled in the company of Gandalf and the Elves of Mirkwood, having made his hesitant peace with Thranduil. The road home was looking to be as long as the road to Erebor had been, but he was finally going the right way.

* * *

* * *


	2. Back Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo returns from his adventures with the Dwarves and finds things not the way he left them. Well, he is nothing if not an adaptable Hobbit, but he really does dislike his awful Sackville-Baggins relatives. If they would just stop trying to steal his belongings! But after the things he has seen and done, he has no time for the likes of them and just wants to get on with his quiet life. More now than ever before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this shortie, but I wanted to finish up Bilbo's bit of the story. I think this does the job quite nicely.

* * *

* * *

Following the Battle of the Five Armies and it’s sad aftermath, Bilbo returned home to The Shire and at last to Hobbiton. He had travelled with Gandalf and the Mirkwood Elves, stayed a while with Beorn, staying for Yule-tide and into the following Spring, and lingered a while in Rivendell with Master Elrond’s folk, before finally making his way back to The Shire. He returned sometime in June, arriving at his very own door on June 22nd. Gandalf was with him, for which he was rather grateful.

He had been gone so long that someone had apparently decided that he wasn’t just _missing_, he was dead, so he returned to Bag End to find all of his things in the process of being auctioned off. Getting everything back properly took some time, and longer still for the novelty of Bilbo coming back from the dead to wear off. In short, Bilbo was “Presumed Dead”, and not everybody that said so was sorry to find the presumption wrong. The return of Bilbo created quite a disturbance, both under the Hill and over the Hill, and across the Water; it was a great deal more than a nine days’ wonder. The legal bother, indeed, lasted for years. It was quite a long time before Bilbo was in fact admitted to be alive again. 

Indeed Bilbo found he had lost more than spoons, for many of his silver spoons mysteriously disappeared and were never accounted for. Personally, he suspected the Sackville-Bagginses. But he had also lost his reputation. Of course, he remained an elf-friend and had the honour of dwarves, wizards, and all such folk as ever passed that way; but he was no longer quite respectable. He was in fact held by all the hobbits of the neighbourhood to be ‘queer’.

But really, Bilbo did not mind. He was quite content to be left alone; and the sound of the kettle on his hearth was ever after more musical than it had been even in the quiet days before the Unexpected Party. His sword he hung over the mantelpiece. His coat of mail was arranged on a stand in the hall. His gold and silver was largely spent in presents, both useful and extravagant—which to a certain extent accounts for the affection of his nephews and his nieces. His magic ring he kept a great secret, for he chiefly used it when unpleasant callers came.

Following his adventures with the Dwarves, Bilbo was never quite the same Hobbit. It was like Gandalf had said all those long months ago when Bilbo had asked if the nosy old wizard could promise he would come home: “No. And if you do ... you will not be the same.” Yes, he had survived unimaginable trials and returned safely to Bag End, but no, he absolutely was _not _the same Hobbit who had run out his front door on a foolish, dangerous endeavour. After that excitement, Bilbo was content to live out his remaining days in relative peace. He did receive the occasional visit from his old friends from Thorin’s Company, so it wasn’t all very quiet. He took to writing poetry and visiting the elves; and though many shook their heads and touched their foreheads and said “Poor old Baggins!” and though few believed any of his tales, he remained very happy to the end of his days, and those were extraordinarily long. 

Among the adventures he undertook was a final journey from Hobbiton to Rivendell in 3001, where he remained for the next two decades; and then from Rivendell to The Grey Havens with the other Ring Bearers in 3021, wherein he departed at last from Middle Earth.

Bilbo was 131 years old when he sailed over Sea to the Undying Lands with his nephew Frodo, to whom Bilbo had left The One Ring, Sting, and a mithril-mail shirt that Thorin had gifted to him prior to the fallout of the Battle of the Five Armies. Also in the company were old Gandalf, who seemed rather good at getting Bagginses into trouble and out of it again; Lord Elrond, with whom Bilbo had settled after leaving The Shire in 3001 and had long been good friends; and Lady Galadriel of Lorien.

With an unknown adventure ahead of him, Bilbo thought only of one thing, something that had often entered his thoughts: the promise he and Thorin had made to each other upon Thorin’s deathbed to see each other again. Not in this life, but maybe in another. Would he get that chance, now? After so many long and lonely years, would he finally be able to meet Thorin again? And if he did, would they know each other or would they be strangers? And would he meet others of that company? He would just have to wait and keep faith.

* * *

* * *


	3. Inception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Watson has a very unusual beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is so short, but I didn't want to make it any longer because it would get messy with breaking up future chapters. Enjoy!  
**  
I did some research on how the dates should be written, and J.R.R. Tolkien wrote them the way we do: September 22nd, etc, so that's how I'm going to write them within the context of the story, unless I'm mentioning a specific date.  
**  


* * *

* * *

22 September 1971

Bristol, Somerset, UK

When Jacob and Margaret Watson became parents to a son on the night of September 22nd, they named him John Hamish Watson, Hamish for his godfather. John Watson grew up in a broken home, but not on account of anything his father was responsible for as Jacob Watson was always most supportive of his only son and supported and inspired him in any and all pursuits.

John was a precocious and outgoing child, he could be quite stubborn and temperamental when the mood was on him, but he was also very kind and very wise. It was a rather interesting mix of characteristics, but it went quite a long way towards helping him get ahead in life. More than once, someone would look at John and mention very offhandedly that he seemed to have a very old soul, an ancient sort of quality about him. As if he had seen and experienced things no other creature on earth could begin to understand.

Certain days were always held sacred to John, outside of his own birthday and recognized holidays such as Christmas and New Year’s Eve and such. And for _some reason_, that made absolutely no sense to anyone, John had a thing about any given month beginning on a Friday. Not that it was a bad thing, he just didn’t think it was necessary for a month to begin on _that _particular day of the week. He would say “on Friday the First”, almost as a gag or a pun, usually if he didn’t quite believe something was possible or if he doubted what someone was saying.

“On Friday the First of Summerfilth” was the whole of it, and no one could ever figure out what he meant by that.

He especially seemed to commemorate November 23rd and April 26th-27th  as well as the twenty-second day of August and September. But when asked why these days, the dates themselves, were so important, he couldn’t explain it.

“I don’t _know _why, but something about this day is special,” he said when asked about his observations on November 23rd. “There is some sadness to it that has always been there, something I feel in a deeper place than my heart.”

April 26th-27th, by comparison, were days held in much happier regard, and he always seemed more animated and restless on those days. He tended to be a bit temperamental on the 26th, but generally in a good mood overall.

“It’s a good day for an adventure!” He would declare on the 27th, which usually precluded him going off and having some kind of adventure or other.

He liked to yell “I’m going on an adventure!” as he set out, usually for the back garden where he spent hours and hours playing make-believe. Sometimes it was a jaunt around the neighbourhood, sometimes he would disappear for days at a time.

The first time John disappeared for more than a few hours, he was gone for nearly a whole week and when he returned home filthy but unhurt with a backpack full of food wrappers and empty drink-boxes, he seemed rather surprised by the amount of fuss over him wandering off. He was six. It happened several more times as he got older, and never on just those two particular days in April. He had a habit of disappearing on other days, too. September 22nd was a popular one, as was the 29th of that same month. No one was ever sure where he went or what he did when he disappeared like that, but he never seemed to get up to any serious mischief.

* * *

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated with myself if I should take on John Watson's "canon" birthday of August 7th (thank you so much, D, you were the one who gave me that information), or if I should stick to John sharing Bilbo's birthday of September 22nd. And honestly, I'm sticking with September 22nd. After all, that day is of special significance.


	4. Intervention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Watson's nomadic lifestyle is fast coming to a close, but he might just have a very fair alternative.

* * *

* * *

As he cleared the childhood threshold of acceptable mischief-making, John continued to wander off on fairly predictable whim well into adulthood. He would still preface any excursions with a slightly subdued “Well, I’m going on an adventure” when questioned as to his intentions, and go off somewhere for hours or days at a time. And yet, these little “adventures” never interfered with his education. If he disappeared in the course of a school-term, he always took his books with him and made sure the readings and required coursework were completed and turned in. He usually only disappeared on weekends during the school-term, leaving on Friday afternoon and returning on Monday morning. His longer absences took place during Holiday, where he would disappear the night before the start of the break and sometimes not return until the last hours of the last day.

His father, Jacob, was in the British Army and kept suggesting that maybe John might just be suited to the lifestyle. Jacob never pushed his son towards the agency, but he did hint at it when the appropriate situation arose. As it occasionally did. But John appreciated his freedom too much, especially at the age of 16 and 17 when he was of age to enter the Army Foundation College at Harrogate, so he kept to his unusually nomadic way of life. But it was always something to think about, and John found himself considering it more and more as he passed his mid-teens.

John Watson’s days of wandering came to a halt in his twenties, after he graduated university with his degree in medicine. He wanted to do more with his life, but he didn’t know what he could possibly hit upon to even begin to fill the desire in his heart. He knew something had to change, he just ... he wasn’t sure _how _to change it, what he would have to do on his own behalf. John was almost afraid to tap the one option his father had always laid before him, afraid it would be too much of everything he didn’t want part of.

It had been a little over a year, and he was getting restless. In fact, he had gone off for all of that year, not telling anyone as was standard, and simply gone wherever his road happened to lead him. This had included an extended stay in Meiringen, Switzerland, where he had visited the breathtaking Reichenbach Falls, making a point of hiking from the base-station along a trail that led towards Rosenlaui with spectacular views of the Falls at different elevations.

There was a place near the summit where your only option was to turn around and rejoin the primary trail. John had spent hours sitting alongside the ledge overlooking a deadly, breathtaking plunge, enjoying the peace he got in what seemed to be a remarkably isolated part of the trail. A few fellow hikers stopped by, but no one had really bothered him. That night, he had reached Rosenlaui and stayed over two days before making the trek back to Meiringen. From Meiringen, he had travelled to Paris by Geneva and Lyon among other stops along that way. And from Paris, he had taken the train to London, and then up to Grantham.

The answer came to him one day while he was visiting his parents after that extended sabbatical. He showed up at his parents’ door with an expedition pack stuffed with dirty clothes, a full kit of well-used camping gear, and the remains of military-style rations. It was July 15th, he had departed from London over a year ago on May 18th 1997, and he was finally home again.

“Mum!” He shouted as he stepped through the familiar front door, “Da? I’m home!” There was no response, but that was kind of standard. Shrugging, John made his way to the utility room off the kitchen, proving in the process that his parents were _not _home, or at least not on the ground floor of the house if they were. He set down his pack by the integrated washing machine and started sorting through his gear for the first of what promised to be at least four loads of laundry. Maybe more than that, maybe less. He had kept his dirty laundry separate from what had been washed, so it wasn’t _that _hard.

As he sorted, he heard a commotion upstairs, the sound of footsteps along the hall and on the stairs. Well, _someone _was home. Not his parents, obviously, so that just left ...

“Well, well, well. The vagrant returns.” Harry.

“Hello, Harriet.”

“It’s _Harry_.” She spat, lip curled, “Tail tucked firmly between your legs, I see? What happened? You finally ran out of money?”

“No, actually. I just decided to come home.” He looked up from sorting and putting in the first load of laundry and looked at his sister.

“Da’s gonna be pissed you dragged back in like it don’t matter you’ve been gone a whole fucking year.” Harry slurred, baring her teeth at him. John sighed and finished loading the washer.

“Harry, Da’s _used _to me fucking off for a few days or weeks or months. I’ve been doing it since I was six.” He straightened up and put the rest of his laundry in a basket for future loads. “I’ve almost never gotten into trouble, I’ve never broken the law, I just ... ”

“You run away, is what!” His sister said, her voice hostile. “Fucking coward, you just run off with your tail between your legs instead of sticking around!”

“Why on _earth _would I want to be anywhere within ten feet of you, Harry?” He replied with a calm he certainly didn’t feel. “I have better things to be doing with my time than dodging a bottle coming at my head.” And he had gotten quite good at dodging empty bottles thrown at him by his sister.

John didn’t need a medical degree to know his sister was, once again, on a bender. He honestly couldn’t remember if he’d ever actually seen Harry sober. Not once in his life. Clearly, Harry was either single or between partners at the moment, she wore a pair of ratty old jeans and a hoodie too large for her, hair in a messy half-updo, barefoot. He would bet money she wasn’t wearing a shirt under that sweatshirt. Her mascara was smeared and her eyes were glassy and bloodshot, she must have cried, and she was wearing that hideous bright pink lipstick she always wore when she was feeling particularly sorry for herself. Never mind the partially-empty bottle of something in her left hand. She was in a spiteful mood, obviously, and that always got worse when she was drunk or otherwise intoxicated. And she was clearly intoxicated.

Brushing his hands off, he carried his gear out through the side door to the garage. He would clean and properly sort his gear later, right now he would focus on laundry and getting a shower for himself. John had managed to grab a quick shower at King’s Cross before making the last leg of his trip from London to Grantham, but he sure wouldn’t mind another one.

“Leave my shite alone, Harry, I’m going upstairs to take a shower.” He said as he passed by his sister.

“Why would I mess with your shite, Johnny?”

“Because that’s how you are, it’s what you do.” He ignored the nickname. “Please leave it alone. Just this once.” _Just this once, please act like an adult. _This last was left unspoken but heavily implied. It was asking too much, but John could always hope for the best, even if he knew better.

Trusting his sister to behave herself, John headed upstairs.

“Oh, don’t bother with your room, Johnny!” She yelled up after him. “They moved you out last year!”

“What?” John paused on the stairs and looked over the railing. “What’d you mean?”

“What I said! Guess Hannah didn’t think you’d be coming home or some such, and they redid the whole room!”

“Why would ... ” John hesitated and frowned at his inebriated sister. “Y’know, never mind. I don’t want to know. I’ll find out from a reliable source. Go fuck off elsewhere, Harry, I have enough to worry about without you making things worse.”

“It’s too bad you’re such an arsehole, Johnny, you could have every girl in fifty miles swooning at your feet!”

“Who ever said I was interested in women?” he muttered under his breath.

“Oh, also, I’m leaving! Be in London for the weekend!”

“Why am I not surprised?” John muttered as he reached the top of the stairs. He left his bedroom, or what _had _been his bedroom, alone for the time being. Making good use of reliable hot water, John took a decently long shower. It felt good to get properly clean. He used the alone-time to reflect on the genesis-point of Harry’s bad behaviour. It wasn’t a pleasant contemplation.

Harry Watson was the elder of the two Watson siblings by eight years, born March 11th 1963, to Jacob and Margaret Watson. She had curly red hair, icy green eyes, was about average height for a woman at five-foot-seven. Harry was between slim and stocky in build, but she fit her frame and had never really struggled with her weight like some women. Harry, unfortunately, was also possessed of a deplorable temper and would lash out at anyone doomed to be in her sphere of influence at the time.

As hard as John’s childhood had been, Harry’s was worse. She rebelled against all authority from an early age, constantly at odds with her strict but caring father. She found solace in her mother, who shared her vices of drink and smoking, at least for a little while. But when Harry had come out as lesbian at the age of eighteen, everything had kind of fallen apart. Badly. Jacob had promised, sworn up and down over the graves of his ancestors, that he loved Harry no matter what choice she made or who she loved. He knew sexuality was not just a choice, but he had never really been bothered by anyone who was homosexual. This included and was not limited to his own children. But that acceptance was not enough for Harry, who had lost her only ally against Jacob when her mother practically kicked her out of the house for the same reason.

Margaret Watson had died the following summer, in 1982, but none of the surviving Watsons had really missed her much. In fact, John had been the one to receive his mother’s remains because Harry wouldn’t come home for that funeral and Jacob Watson was overseas with the Army. He could have gotten bereavement leave if he and Margret had still been married, but the divorce had been finalized earlier in the year, and full custody of the minor John Watson had been granted to Jacob Watson on the understanding that any time he spent on deployment John would live with his Watson grandparents. So, once Margaret Watson’s body had been cremated in accordance with her will, John was given a small container of ashes. He simply sealed the container, weighted it with stones, and threw it into the River Dart.

That had been the close of one chapter of John’s life, and shortly thereafter, Jacob had moved up to Grantham with John and Harry. They moved in order to be closer to Jacob’s duty-post when he received a transfer to the 102 Logistic Brigade. And when Jacob was on deployment, John lived in Glasgow with his grandparents. It was two years after Margaret Watson’s death that Jacob remarried, and John started spending more time at home and less time with his grandparents, though he still visited them for two weeks in the summer and in the winter per an agreement with his parents. And it had been that way ever since. These days, he visited for a week and helped around the house, but he had made a point of stopping by to visit with his grandparents while he’d been gone.

After wasting as much time, and hot water, as he felt was reasonable, John got out of the shower and dried off with a towel, wrapping it around his waist before heading for the fourth of the upstairs bedrooms. The first door he opened let into Harry’s bedroom, and he very quickly and quietly closed the door again, going to the bedroom next door, the one adjacent to the bathroom. He closed the door and made sure to lock it, and took a chance to look around. This room had once been the spare, but now it was John’s room. The spare must have been moved downstairs to the old study. Which was fine. It looked like everything had survived the room-switch, and clearly Hannah kept it up even while he was off adventuring, the furniture was dusted and the sheets were clean. Smiling, John got dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a tee-shirt. Ruffling his hair with the towel, he tossed it over the back of the desk-chair to dry. Then, he laid down on the double bed and closed his eyes.

But the peace was short-lived as Harry came stomping up the stairs and banged around in her room for a few minutes before she came and hammered on his door.

“I’m leaving, Johnny!”

“For fuck’s sake, Harry, knock it off!” He snapped, fed up with his sister. “It’s Wednesday!” 

“Bye, loser!”

“You know the rules!” He shouted from the top of the stairs. That got him an obscene gesture as his sister rushed out the door with a backpack and overnight bag. He sat at the top of the stairs and watched her disappear, wincing as she slammed the door on purpose. Well, at least he wouldn’t have to deal with Harry while he was home.

John didn’t have much time to feel sorry for himself, as a soft, muffled whine reached him. That wasn’t a dog, John suspected his stepmother had taken Galahad, the family’s German Shepherd, with her wherever _she _had gone. It was coming from his old room, as he discovered when he hunted the noise to an unlikely source. Curious, because he hadn’t been aware of the family growing at all recently, or didn’t remember anyone saying if it had, John put one hand on the door handle and listened. It was quiet for a while until he heard an honest-to-goodness wail. Just a soft one, but he knew the sound of a child in distress.

“Oh, god damn it, Harry!” He muttered, unlocking the door and pushing it open. The room definitely wasn’t configured for a nomadic young man in his mid-twenties, it had been turned into a comfortable, completely functional nursery. And it’s occupant stood in the cot, peeking over the rails at John with wide, wet, frightened eyes. Upon seeing him in the doorway, the infant disappeared from sight, but John caught sight of a tiny eye stealing a look at him through the slats.

“Oh, it’s okay, sweetling.” He said softly, holding out both hands to show they were empty. “I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise.” Clearly, the child didn’t believe him, but John couldn’t blame them. Approaching the cot slowly and carefully, he finally got close enough he could look in on the child.

“Well, you’re definitely a Watson! You look like Da!” He smiled, folding his arms on the rail and leaning against it, “I’m your big brother John. I’m the _nice _one, promise.” Curious grey eyes blinked up at him.

“Don’t worry, meanie Big Sister Harry is gone, she’ll be gone all weekend.” John smiled and held out one hand. “And good riddance to ‘er. She was never all that nice to me, either, y’know? C’mere. You smell like you could use a bath.” In less than a minute, he had his arms full. Apparently, since he was clearly _not _Harry, he was safe.

“Oof, yeah, you _definitely _need a bath!” John caught a whiff of a dirty nappy and wrinkled his nose. “Alright, you, come on, straight into the bath with you! Then we’ll figure out what to do about dinner!” Holding the infant comfortably but at a distance to avoid soiling his own clothes, he headed first to the changing table to see about the status of that nappy.

“Oh, no.” He groaned when he saw it. “You’re a mess! How on earth did so much come from someone so tiny?! Your bowels can’t possibly be that big!”

Laying her on a towel, his sibling was a little sister, John got rid of the onesie and socks first, and then that disaster of a diaper. Everything was bundled up and thrown away, best cut losses and start fresh. Then, using a flannel as a buffer, he carried his naked baby sister to the bathroom. Placing her on the floor, he ran the water warm and added a bit of baby-bath. He hadn’t noticed it earlier, but he was glad for it now. Once the water was about three inches deep, he put her in the tub and made short work of getting her cleaned up. She, of course, thought it was hilarious to splash water at him and he ended up half-soaked. Rolling his eyes, John thoughtlessly yanked off his wet shirt and tossed it out the door, but he finally did get her all cleaned up properly and lifted her out of the bath.

“That’s enough of _that_ nonsense, madam.” He scolded as he wiped her off and wrapped her up in a soft towel. “You owe me a clean shirt.”

With one crisis managed, he headed back to the nursery to get something for her to wear and snagged a clean nappy and an outfit from the dresser. Returning to his room, he got his sister dressed first and then hunted for a clean shirt of his own while she flailed and rolled around on the bed, giggling and playing with her own toes. While she was otherwise occupied, John picked up his cell-phone and made a call. It rang twice before it was picked up.

_“The Monarch, this is Mallory.” _The familiar voice of Mallory St. Vincent and the familiar greeting made John smile. “_How can I help you today?” _

_“Heya, Mal. It’s John Watson.” _He sat on the floor next to his bed and kept an eye on his baby sister.

_“Oh my fucking lord! Are you kidding me!” _He held the phone away as Mallory went off. _“It’s been two fucking months, son! Are you seriously back in town?!”_

_“Yep.” _He chuckled, _“At least until further notice.”_

_“Well, I’ll be damned! So, what can I be doing you for then, kid?”_

_“I need to order some food, Mal. Think you can help me out?”_

_“Oh, absolutely! What’d you need, then, lad?”_

_“Hmm.” _John frowned. _“Can I have three orders of curry chicken with rice, extra naan, and an order of Lincolnshire sausages with fries and baked beans?”_

_“You got it! When should we have it ready?”_

_“Oh, thirty minutes?” _John looked at his watch. It was 4:30 now, which meant the home deployment was due at Prince William Barracks around 5:30. That gave him just enough time to make the hike from the Cherrywood Drive house out to The Monarch, pick up the food, and get home before his parents did.

After making arrangements with Mallory St. Vincent, John grabbed a jacket, found a carrier for his sister, and geared up to go for a bit of a walk. But first, he tossed the soiled bedding from the cot into the wash, adding it to the piles waiting to go in. Making sure he had his house-key and making sure his sister wouldn’t be exposed to the sun too terribly, John set off for The Monarch after locking up the house. It was a beautiful day, and he was kept entertained as his sister hummed and babbled and sang to herself, thoroughly enjoying herself. John chuckled as she kicked against his back, smacking his shoulders with her small hands and tugging on his hair. He could honestly think of worse things to be doing with his afternoon. Usually, they went out to dinner on nights like this, when his dad got home from a deployment, but he wanted to eat at home like a proper family. Even if Harry had fucked off to London for the weekend. Well, it was more like she’d fucked off the week, but semantics.

Thirty minutes later, John walked through the door of The Monarch and waved to Mallory St. Vincent’s brother-in-law, Michael Selles.

“Hey, Mike!” He called.

“Heya, Johnny Boy! Mal said you were back in town!” Mike came around the hostess station and hugging John, being careful of his burden.

“Aw, you brought Bodie with you?” Mike beamed and reached over John’s shoulder, “Well, hi there, my little princess! Hi, you beauty! Did your big brother let you come along?”

“God knows how long Harry ignored her.” John smiled, adjusting the straps of the carrier, “But I think I took pretty good care of the situation.”

“Oh, that reckless girl.” Mike sighed and shook his head at the mention of Harry. “Well, good thing for you, Boudicca, your big brother John came home and rescued you from that awful woman.” John choked when he heard the name they had given his little sister.

“Hold on!” he looked over his shoulder at the cheerful infant. “They didn’t actually name her Boudicca, did they?!”

“Yep, but nobody really calls her that, we all just call ‘er Bodie.”

“That’s a big name to live up to!”

“Aw, she’s a Watson, she’ll have no problem.” Mike chuckled and tickled Bodie’s cheek. “Won’t you, my princess?”

“Hey! Stop hogging the baby, Mike! It’s my turn!” Mallory St. Vincent’s voice was followed very quickly by the woman herself, done up in her white chef’s uniform for work in the kitchen.

“Heya, Mal!” John gave Mallory a big smile.

“Hi, John!” Mallory hugged him tightly, “Good to see you again. Mike, can you go back and grab the bags, they’re sitting in the window?”

“Sure thing, Mal.” Mike kissed Mallory on the cheek and headed for the kitchen. “Great to see you again, John! Don’t be such a bloody stranger!”

“I make no promises, Mike!” John called as Mallory got busy unfastening the buckles and straps of the carrier to let Bodie out for some cuddle-time.

“So, John.” Mallory looked at him meaningfully as they sat together on the bench just inside the doors, “Will you stick around this time?”

“Well, I’m not expecting Harry back from London before Monday next, maybe longer than that, so I’ll be in town at least as long as she’s _not_.”

“What will you do, then?”

“I have _no _idea, Mal.” John sighed and folded his hands between his knees. “I mean, there’s a few things I could do, it’s just ... ”

“You don’t know if it’s worth the investment?”

“Yeah. Something like that.” He shrugged and looked at Mallory. “Mal, you’ve known me most of my life.”

“Yeah, at least for the last fifteen years of it.” Mallory studied him, read his body language, read between the words that he said out loud for the things he didn’t.

“What should I do?”

“You’re asking _me _for advice?”

“Yeah.”

“Christ, John, hell if I know!” Mallory frowned as she bounced Bodie, who fussed a bit. “I mean, you’ve always been a bit of a drifter, and I doubt that’s going to change a whole lot. Or anytime soon.”

“Yeah, I know. But I feel like ... there’s more to do than just bum from place to place sleeping in hostels or camping in the countryside.” John ruffled his hair with both hands. “I kind of ... well, I need a direction. I need something to do.”

“Have you talked to your dad? Couldn’t he help?”

“Yeah, he could, I just haven’t ... I haven’t had a chance to talk to ‘im in a while.”

“Well, he’s supposed to be home for a while, so ... maybe?”

“I guess.”

“Just _talk _to him, John. What’s the worst he can say?”

“Dunno.” John looked over as he heard Mike coming back. “I guess I never thought ... I never considered military service a real, viable solution. A legitimate option.”

“But now you do?”

“Did you know, my grandfather was a medic in World War II? Da drives an ambulance now with the 102nd Logistics.”

“So, there’s family history?”

“Yeah. Of a sort.”

“Talk to your dad, see what he has to offer.” Mallory got to her feet, cradling Bodie as John did likewise. “I mean, what’s the worst that could happen if you go into service?”

“I become the third Watson male to join the Army.”

“That’s not such a bad thing, is it?” He couldn’t see her face as she put Bodie back in the carrier for the walk home, but he knew she had an eyebrow raised.

“I could die. Get blown to bits somewhere overseas. Get myself shot.”

“That would be properly awful. But that’s just a calculated risk you’ll have to take, John.” Mallory came back around once Bodie was safely tucked into the carrier. “Promise me you’ll talk to your dad?”

“May not have a choice.”

“Just promise.”

“Alright.” John smiled and took Mallory’s hand. “I promise.”

“Good.” She handed him the bag Mike had brought out. “Take care of yourself, John, stay in touch?”

“I promise nothing, but I’ll try.”

“Good enough.” Mallory gave him a tight hug and she and Mike both walked him to the street, watched as he set off for home. Friends like Mallory and Mike were so vital, so important. They were part of John’s regular, reliable network of contacts, and he really would try to keep in touch with them. He owed them at least that much effort.

* * *

* * *


	5. Name Of A Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A decision is reached, and John has a revelation. And, as he always has been, Jacob Watson is fully in support of his son and willing to help guide him in the right direction. A little nudge usually does the trick.

* * *

* * *

Bodie fell asleep on the walk home, John didn’t wake her up right away. Instead, he checked his watch, checked the voicemail, collected plates and silverware, and plated the food. His stepmom had left a message about ten minutes ago to let him know that she and Jacob were on their way home from barracks.

“Well, that’s what I call perfect timing.” John said with a smile as he deleted that voicemail. Sure enough, just as he laid down two bottles of beer and a glass of wine, and a bottle of milk for Bodie, he heard the garage door open. A minute later, the door to the house opened and he heard his parents come in.

“John!” His dad called out. “You home, son?”

“Hey, Da.”

“Oh, you brought home dinner!” Hannah appeared first, “You didn’t have to do that, John!”

“I wanted to.” He smiled and gave a small shrug. “Besides, it got me out of the house for a bit.”

“Oh, please! As if you haven’t been gone for a year?” Jacob Watson came in behind Hannah and gave John a long, searching look.

“You look a little rough around the edges, son.”

“I’ve looked worse.” John gave his dad a smile. “You’re just mad because I didn’t shave.”

“Can’t say I’m too surprised.” Jacob gave him a quick hug. “But I have to admit that coming home to find dinner on the table and you wearing Bodie in a backpack isn’t what I expected. Where’s Harry?”

“Fucked off to London until further notice.” John let Hannah help him with the carrier and once Bodie was free of the carrier, Hannah went upstairs to check on the status of her nappy.

“Did she say how long she’d be gone?”

“The weekend, is what she told me.” He went to switch the laundry, putting in half a load of his laundry with the bedding from the nursery, and went back to the kitchen.

“It’s Wednesday.” Jacob Watson frowned.

“Yeah, I know. I mentioned that, too.”

“And she bit your head off?”

“Ignored me, actually. But when has she ever not?”

“Oh, that girl.”

“We can’t help those who won’t be helped, Da.” John sat down at the table with his dad. “Trying just makes things worse and in the end, we’re the ones who get hurt while they go on with their lives.”

“You’re a good soul, John Watson.” His dad smiled and reached over to take his hand.

“I’m hearing an unspoken “but” in there somewhere.”

“You know you can’t spend your whole life going wherever you like for weeks and months on end. That’s no way to live.”

“What can I do?”

“You just need a direction in your life, something to do with your time.”

“Yeah, that’s what Mallory said, too.” John sighed. “I just ... I don’t know what needs to change or how to change it.”

“Well, I have a few ideas.”

“Yeh, I’ll bet you do!” John rolled his eyes.

“We’ll talk about it after dinner.”

“Yes, sir.” John knew that he would be visiting the Armed Forces Careers Offices at the soonest. Going to the Army was one of the most dangerous things John had ever considered doing, but at least he wasn’t raiding a dragon’s lair. Wait, what? That was a strange thing to consider, wasn’t it?

They didn’t speak of it further, Hannah had returned with Bodie.

“I put clean sheets on the cot, John.” Hannah set Bodie in the highchair before sitting down on the other side of the table. “Thank you for washing the old ones.”

“I had to throw away the outfit she was wearing before I gave her a bath.” He shrugged, looking over at his little sister. “We lost a towel, a flannel, a pair of socks, and a onesie to the effort.”

“Well, god bless you for cleaning up after that little monster! Did she behave herself for you?”

“I had to change my shirt when we were done, but that was about the worst of it. Keep her dry, clean, and happy, pretty simple.”

“Well, she certainly doesn’t seem to mind you!” Hannah just smiled and it was quiet but peaceful as they ate. Discussion flowed from subject to subject, they steered away from Harry or the subject of John joining the Army, and John helped with the wash-up after dinner.

Once the dishes were loaded into the dishwasher, he turned right back around and handled bedtime for Bodie. She didn’t need another bath, but he did wipe her down with a warm flannel before drying her off and putting her in a clean nappy and some pyjamas. Then, he read her a bedtime story and smiled when she dozed off against his shoulder halfway through.

“Well, I guess we can finish it tomorrow night.” He whispered, getting up from the rocking chair recliner very carefully so he wouldn’t disturb Bodie. Putting her down was a work of care and patience, she fussed quite a bit at being moved around like that, and John just held her against his shoulder for a bit.

“Oh, none of that, you fussy little thing. It’s bedtime, love, I have adult things to discuss with Da.” He scolded softly, rubbing her tiny shoulders. She belched, snuffled, and dozed off, nuzzling against John’s neck.

“Oh, was _that _the problem? Gas? Well, you silly thing. Better now?” He chuckled and tried again. This time, there was no fussing.

“Well, forgive me for not burping you properly before bedtime, your highness.” Certain Bodie would sleep through the night, or at least long enough to let John talk to his dad and get some sleep of his own, John backed out of the nursery and closed the door.

Going back downstairs, he found his parents in the reception room, Jacob with another beer and Hannah with another glass of wine. Hannah read a book while the evening news run played on low volume. Jacob gave a grunt and reached for the remote, switching over to a football match instead. John smirked and sat down next to his father.

“Had enough doom-and-gloom bad news for the night?”

“Just a bit, yeah.” Jacob looked over at him and handed him the second of two bottles. “That’s for you.”

“Ta.” He smiled and took a sip of the fresh beer, watching the match for a while. It was quiet while he and Jacob watched the match and Hannah read, give or take the hissing and derisive noises John and Jacob made on a bad play, the occasional outburst of “Aw, come on! They barely touched ‘im! What kind of call was that! C’mon, ref!”. Those always made Hannah laugh, but she didn’t seem to mind much when John cursed under his breath at the other team’s dirty tactics.

The only interruption was when Galahad inserted himself into the equation and tried to climb into John’s lap.

“Oi! None of that, you monster!” John shoved the Shepherd back onto the floor, “What? Are you hungry, then? Is that it?”

“Well, we haven’t fed him for the night.” Hannah looked up from her book.

“Oh, very well.” John rolled his eyes and kicked to his feet. “Come on, you.”

Galahad cheerfully followed him back into the kitchen and sat patiently while John filled his bowls, one with food and the other with water, and John leaned against the range while Galahad ate. Once the Shepherd had finished eating, John let him into the utility room.

“Out, Galahad, out you go.” He said, pointing to the pet-door that allowed Galahad to come and go freely from the house. As soon as Galahad was out, he went back to the reception room and sat down again.

“Fed and let him out again.”

“Ta.”

“Did Manchester score again?”

“Mmh.”

“Bollocks that.” John took a sip of beer. It was quiet again until Galahad came back into the house, at which time Hannah locked up the house for the night and retired to the master bedroom.

“Don’t you boys stay up too late!” She scolded as she went upstairs.

“Yes, ma’am.” John and Jacob said in unison. As soon as they heard the door close upstairs, John looked at his father.

“Kitchen?”

“Yeh. Might as well.” Jacob sighed and picked up the remote to turn off the telly. “Match is all but over, the way Chelsea’s playing.”

“They’re playing the Red Devils, what were you expecting?” John rolled his eyes and got up, offering his father a hand. Jacob just chuckled as they headed into the kitchen, Galahad tagging along at John’s heel.

Five minutes later, John was seated across the kitchen table from his father with a cup of tea in front of him.

“John?”

“Hmm?”

“You know what I’m going to say to you.” Jacob’s voice was quiet and stern, the way he got when he really wanted John to pay attention.

“Yes, sir.”

“What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Nothing that I haven’t said before, sir.” John looked up, studying his father through lowered lashes.

“Something has _got _to change, John. If I thought I had even half a chance of you going on your own will and not by force ... ”

“You wouldn’t waste a minute putting a gun to my head and marching me down there if you thought it would do any good.” John had to smile.

“I would rather avoid physical coercion.” Jacob chuckled and took a sip of his tea.

“Y’know, it’s not like I haven’t seen the ugly side of war before anyway.” He murmured.

“What’d you say?” Jacob raised an eyebrow at him.

“Sorry?”

“Are you having those dreams again, son?” Jacob asked carefully, his expression grim. John wanted to say no, that he hadn’t meant anything by it, but he knew better.

For as long as John could remember, far back into childhood, he had been troubled by the strangest dreams. Sleep-studies had been run and he had seen a psychologist to try and make sense of it all. They were elaborate, realistic dreams. Some were violent, nightmarish, others were less so, but they all seemed to revolve around the same person or group of people. John had long ago memorized the name of Bilbo Baggins, even though he had no idea who that was or what sort of person he was. Someone important, apparently? He recalled flashes of violence, shrieking goblins and fierce Orcs, wolf-like creatures called Wargs, dragon-fire and the absolute terror of being at the mercy of a greedy and cruel dragon.

“John.” A touch on his hand and the sound of his name startled him back to the moment and John looked at his father.

“You just had a flash-back, didn’t you?”

“I ... I don’t know if the Army is the best idea for me.” He whispered, looking at his shaking hands. “I mean, my psych-eval alone would disqualify me!”

“PTSD is not an automatic disqualifier.”

“But, Da, my nightmares ... ”

“Son, you are not the first or only person in the world to have a Past Life.” Jacob gave him a stern look. “Certainly not the first or only I’ve met in my life.”

“I’m ... ” he hesitated, a bit lost for any words.

“Yes. You are.” Jacob’s expression gentled as he took John’s hand, “Listen to me, son, you are one of the most exceptional people I’ve ever known. Whoever you were Before, that has shaped and influenced your entire life, it has made you who you are today.”

“But who I was I? What kind of man was I?” John had wondered that his whole life.

“Who was Bilbo Baggins?” Jacob answered a question with a question and John wrinkled his nose.

“Oh no you don’t!” He said, “I _know _you’re not a wizard! Would a straight answer kill you?”

“I memorized the name of Bilbo Baggins a long time ago, same as you did. I’ve always wondered what sort of person he must have been that you’re one of the man’s Scions.” Jacob grinned, “Who was he?”

“I wish I knew.” John sighed, taking a sip of tea. “I don’t know that I’ve ever really been able to figure that out. He certainly had some interesting friends.”

“Like Mithrandir?”

“Gandalf?” John raised an eyebrow at the unusual name. “How ... ?” How did Jacob know about it, and why did John suddenly _remember _it? He did know that name, even if he didn’t remember who it belonged to. He remembered that Gandalf was a wizard, but not _who _he was, or had been, or what he’d had to do with John’s Past Life misadventures. Or even much of what Gandalf looked like. Not beyond his bizarre recollections.

“I’ve heard of ‘im, but I don’t know if I’ve ever heard anything about modern-age Scions of ‘im.” Jacob matched his expression over the rim of his teacup.

“Way I hear things, he was a bit of a meddlesome troublemaker. Known for luring intrepid young Hobbits away on adventures they didn’t always come back from.”

“Bilbo must have been one of them.” John mused, mostly to himself. “I seem to remember someone saying “I am a Baggins of Bag End!” in several of my ... well, I guess they’re not just dreams, are they?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Well, I guess we know why I keep wandering off every now and then?”

“And where some of that temper of yours comes from.” Jacob studied him, “But I doubt this will keep you from entering service in the British Army.”

“Alright.” John ruffled his hair, too long from his latest adventure. “So, first thing in the morning?”

“Bright and early. We’ll go down to London together and see about getting you into the Army.”

“This is going to be a rather different sort of adventure, isn’t it?” He grinned at his father, who had never once judged him for his lifestyle or his peculiar reminiscences. His memories.

“I’ll let you take a look at the records they keep on Past Lives and you can read up on your Prime.”

“I’d like that. I don’t know anything more than what my memories tell me, and those aren’t always very clear, or even very reliable.” John finished his tea and took their empty cups to the sink once Jacob was finished, doing a quick wash-up. “How many, um, how many of us have there been?”

“It’s different with every Prime, some only have one Scion, others have several. As far as anyone knows, you’re one of three known Scions to Bilbo Baggins.”

“So I’m not the only one?”

“No, and no one is really sure what happened to the other two. They died, but nothing suspicious ever happened and there’s no certainty they were even aware.”

“How could you not know?”

“Some people just don’t know, or don’t care if they do know.”

“Isn’t that kind of ... selfish? I don’t know, wasteful?” John frowned, he couldn’t imagine trying to live with his memories and not knowing why he had them.

“If someone with a psychosis was a Scion, who would ever know if they were telling the truth?”

“Multiple Personality Disorders.” He sighed and leaned against the work-top by the sink. “But wouldn’t that mean that I have an MPD?”

“A Past Life does not qualify as an MPD by itself.” Jacob shook his head. “It’s a predisposition. Not necessarily a psychosis in the strictest sense of the word.”

“But it is a pscyhosis.”

“Go to sleep, John,” Jacob said quietly, but firmly. “You’re going to need to be on your best game tomorrow.” 

“Alright.” John straightened up. He knew when to pick his arguments and when to let it go, and this discussion was over. 

“Goodnight, Da.”

“Goodnight, John.” Jacob smiled and gave him a hug before sending him on his way upstairs.

Going upstairs, John went through his nightly routine and switched off the light as he left the bathroom after finishing up. Going into his room, he found Galahad had staked a claim on his bed and rolled his eyes.

“There’s plenty of room in there for the both of us, you monster.” He muttered, shoving Galahad out of the way. “Budge over.”

After settling down for the night, John switched off the bedside lamp and watched the light-shadows on his ceiling. Another chapter of his life had closed, and a new one was beginning. And now he knew why he kept having flashbacks. Why he remembered things that couldn’t, _shouldn’t _be possible. Past Life. John had never heard that term in the context of his own experiences. He knew what it _meant_, of course, everyone did, but he hadn’t really thought that he might be one of the people who had a Past Life. And no one, not even the psychologists he’d seen, had even once suggested that John might have a Past Life. They _had _diagnosed PTSD, but it wasn’t even really that. Well, it _was_, but it wasn’t. John had never considered that he might be what was known as a Scion anymore than he might have a Past Life at all. And yet, he was. To Bilbo Baggins, whoever he had been. He turned all of these thoughts over in his head for a while before finally falling asleep with Galahad curled up on his feet. What a strange turn his life had taken. But it could certainly be worse. 

* * *

* * *


	6. Begin The Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John begins the process of joining the British Army, just like his father and grandfather before him. It's not what he ever really saw himself doing, but it will definitely keep him occupied for a few years at least.

* * *

* * *

Early the next morning, well before most folks were even stirring, John was awake and taking a shower. Getting dressed, he settled on his best pair of jeans, the least-worn pair he _hadn’t _taken on his year-long sojourn, a white button-down with the top two buttons undone, and a brown waistcoat. He also found his nicer pair of oxfords. Nothing too fancy, just something a little dressier than ratty jeans and a faded band-shirt.

Once he was ready, and he felt reasonably acceptable to go out in public, John met his father in the kitchen and they ate a quick breakfast: toast, eggs (fried soft with salt and paprika), and a cup of coffee. It was enough to get them to London and through their visit to the recruiting office, a larger meal could be had later. Then, collecting their coats, mobiles, and wallets, they left the house. While John wore comfortable, more-casual clothes, he did not miss that his father was wearing his uniform. It made good sense, considering his father was still quite active and there were no rules that said he _couldn’t _wear his uniform while on leave. But John sure didn’t mind.

The drive from the house to Grantham Station was quiet, and as Jacob bought them tickets on the 7:18 London North East to King’s Cross Station, London. This would put them _in_ London around 8:31, when they would pick up the Victoria Line from St. Pancras to Victoria Station. With any luck at all, they would be at the doors of the Army Careers Information Office right as they opened for business at 9:00. But neither of the Watson men seemed to mind terribly.

It was only once they were on their way to London that the silence between John and his father was broken.

“Speak your mind, John,” Jacob said first, smiling at him from across the way. “You’ve been turning those wheels since we left the house.”

“Sorry.” John studied his hands. “I just … what can I do in the Army? What possible use could they _have _for someone like me?”

“Well, you have your degree in medicine?”

“Yes. I graduated back in May.”

“And you’ve registered with the GMC and have your license to practice?”

“Yes, and yes.” John nodded. Yes, he had the degrees, the license, and the council-registration that came with graduation from medical school, he just hadn’t _done _anything with them since he had finished school. In fact, he had all of that paperwork in a file that he’d brought with him.

“You’ll be going in with the Royal Army Medical Corps, then.” Jacob leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “At worst case, you get to work a field-hospital.”

“Wouldn’t _that_ be best case?” He asked, “Worst case would be working the front-lines as a field-medic.”

“No, John. Not a medic.” Jacob took his hand and squeezed. “A _doctor_. And Christ knows we always need good doctors out there.”

“Guess I might as well put that license of mine to use somewhere, huh?” John smiled, he couldn’t help it.

_“My place is with the wounded.” _That wasn’t Bilbo’s voice he heard, but someone else.

“If I can’t save lives, I can try to make the dying feel less alone.” He said out loud, wondering who on earth he had heard in his head just now. One of Bilbo’s companions, maybe?

“Sometimes that’s all you _can _do, son. And better than doing nothing.” Jacob said wisely. John just nodded, knowing he was right.

The rest of the trip passed without issue, they talked of all sorts of things, catching each other up on the news they had missed while on their own business elsewhere from England. John had always cherished these moments he got to be alone with his father, rare as they were these days. He appreciated that they could talk about everything, anything, and absolutely nothing at all in a single conversation.

When they reached London, they made the short walk to the Underground at King’s Cross St. Pancras, caught the 8:39 to Victoria Station, and started the last leg of their journey from Grantham to London. They made it to Victoria Station with nearly ten minutes to spare, so they set off for the recruiting office in a cab. John paid the fare when they reached their final destination and checked his watch.

“Well, that’s what I call good timing!” He looked at his father as they stood on the footpath together outside the recruiting office.

“After you, son.” Jacob smiled and indicated the open doors. John knew this was the right thing to do, even if he had fought against it for so long. He just hadn’t been ready before, he was ready now. He _wanted _to do this, and he could devote his self and his time completely. And he would.

Going inside, he declared his business to someone in uniform at a small desk, a woman his stepmother’s age, and was directed to another desk to speak with the officer who sat there. All the while, his father was right behind him, silent and supportive, and a bit intimidating to the rest of them. For his father was a Major, and a good officer, a better man, and people respected him. Major Jacob Harrison Watson of the 102 Logistics Brigade.

The man they met, who would be helping John with the application and selection process, was a friend of his father’s. He looked every inch the soldier he was, tall, broad in the shoulders, with greying dark hair cut high and close, tanned from spending time in warmer climes and dangerous places, intelligent grey eyes.

“Jake! Good to see you!” The man said with a broad smile and booming voice, holding one hand out to Jacob. “What on earth are you doing _here_?”

“Good to see you, too, Jim. I’m here with my son.” Jacob Watson smiled and put his free hand on John’s shoulder as the two shook hands. “This is John. You remember _him_, don’t you?”

“Well, I’ll be damned!” The man’s smile widened as he turned to John next. “Little Johnny Watson! Good to see you, lad!”

“Hello, Major.” John offered one hand to the man. He hadn’t seen James Sholto in what felt like an eternity, but that wasn’t either of their faults. It was good to see him now, and better for a familiar face in the recruiting office.

“Well, sit, gentlemen! I can only guess what brings you to me this morning!” He shuffled some paperwork on his desk and handed John a clipboard and a biro. John, in turn, handed over the file he’d brought with him and started filling out the papers. Sholto was like an uncle to him, was, in fact, John’s godfather, and had done as much pushing to get John into service as Jacob had.

While John filled out the questionnaires and applications, his father and Sholto talked together like the old friends they were.

“So, what are your plans after we’re done here?” Sholto asked, genuinely curious.

“We have business at The Tower after this,” Jacob said calmly, but this was news to John. 

“What’s at The Tower of London?” He inquired, frowning. “I’ve been loads of times and it’s always the same.”

“We’re not going on leisure, son.” His father gave him a certain look. “We’re going on _business_.”

“You said that already. You didn’t say _why_, or what’s there that I haven’t seen.”

“Bit above your clearance, lad.” Sholto shook his head.

“Oh, _that _kind of business.” He didn’t quite understand, but he knew it wasn’t to be spoken of in public like this.

“Yes, ‘_that _kind of business’.” His father nodded.

“Well, I’ve a break around noon, if you don’t mind a bit of extra company when you go down there,” Sholto said casually as John finished and handed back the stack of papers he’d been filling out.

“If it’s not taking you away from this duty?” Jacob raised an eyebrow. Sholto shook his head in the negative, which made John think Sholto was just doing this to fill the time, keep himself busy between deployments.

“Well, _I _don’t mind.” John pitched in, hopeful Sholto would come along on whatever undertaking took them to The Tower.

“That’s decided. We’ll meet up at The Keep on St Katharine’s Way at noon, have lunch, and make our way over to The Tower immediately following.” Sholto said confidently, grinning.

“See you in an hour, then?” Jacob got to his feet, John followed suit.

“I’ll get this lot processed and meet you lads there, then.” Sholto waved the stack of finished paperwork. He traded the paperwork for the file and held it out to John.

“This is yours, Doctor Watson.”

“Thank you, Major Sholto.” He said as they shook hands. “See you in an hour.”

“Good luck, lad. We’ll be in touch about your Boards and such.” His god-father gave his hand a supportive, firm squeeze. “You’ve got an extra Board because of your qualifications, so keep an ear to the ground.”

“Yes, sir.” John smiled and followed his father out of the station.

Once outside, he looked at his watch. And looked a second time. That couldn’t be right. Had they really been here for two hours already? It didn’t seem like they’d been here that long at all! But no one had seemed to mind, and it was a given that the enlistment process for a qualified civilian doctor would take some time. And no one could fault his father for using that time to catch up with an old friend of his anyway.

“Has it really been that long?”

“Yes, it has.”

“Funny how time just sort of stops existing when you’re not paying attention.” John sighed and put his hands in his pockets. It was warm, but he and his father had worn light jackets. Well, John had.

“The weather’s nice,” Jacob said with a glance at the rather clear sky. “Fancy a bit of a stroll?”

“From here to St Katharine’s?”

“If you’re up to it, of course.” That was a challenge, a jab at his wandering nature. John snickered.

“Da, I’ve walked a great deal further than three and a half miles. On several occasions.”

“Well, it never hurts to ask if you mind taking the long way.”

“Huh!” He snorted. “Let me tell you one or two things about taking the long way!” This just made his father laugh and they set off on foot for Saint Katharine’s and The Tower of London.

As they walked, something John kept hearing in his dreams and memories came to mind. It took a minute to remember all of the words, the tune. He hummed a few bars to himself. A rather jaunty, catchy tune, it was. But it could be cheerful or grim, however you were feeling at the moment.

“What’s that you’re humming, son?” Jacob asked, interrupting John’s internal cadence. His stride never faltered, but he did stop humming.

“Sorry, what?” He looked over at Jacob.

“That song you’ve been humming.” Jacob smiled. “What’s it called? If it has a name.”

“Oh, it has a name.” John chuckled, “Bilbo called it The Old Walking Song.”

“I wonder how it got that name?”

“It’s what it says, it’s a walking song.”

“Smart arse.” Jacob rolled his eyes at John’s impudence.

“You still love me, even when I’m a smart arse.”

“_Especially _when you’re a smart arse.” Jacob reached over and ruffled John’s unruly hair, “You’re going to need a haircut and a shave before you get into Sandhurst, y’know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” John rolled his eyes, “Shove off.” That got him a playful, scolding shove and a tug on the ear. A silent warning to mind his manners. John laughed and bumped shoulders with Jacob. Their relationship had always been this way: equivalent parts father-son, commander and subordinate, and equals. And, with any luck at all, it would remain so until his father’s passing. Hopefully, that day was far in the future.

They reached The Keep just after the doors opened, met up with Sholto per their agreement, and got a table on the patio. For lunch, they ordered pizza (Sholto), the pastrami sandwich (Jacob), and the smoked salmon sandwich (John), and they all three ordered beer to drink. None of them were driving anytime soon and their next destination was well within walking distance, John could _see _The Tower from their table.

“So, what’s in The Tower of London that apparently no one knows about or is supposed to know about?” John asked once the food and drinks had come and it was safe to speak up. Sholto and Jacob traded a look.

“You’ve heard of Project Comeback?” Sholto said carefully. John nodded. Of course, he had.

“The archive for Project Comeback, The Black Archive, is kept at The Tower of London,” Jacob added, solemn and stern.

“And no one knows who shouldn’t?”

“Precisely.”

“Huh. Interesting that everyone knows about Project Comeback, but almost no one knows or cares about the information collected.”

“And that’s the way we want to keep it. There are a few certain Primes we have to take care with the Scions for our sake and theirs.”

“That kind of business.” John murmured understandingly. The elders just nodded.

It wasn’t that the Past Life monitoring project was classified, everyone knew about Project Comeback, but the information collected on behalf _of _the project was, to some degree, classified. In some cases, _highly _classified. Occasionally a Scion knew who their Prime was, sometimes they didn’t, and that’s when a special branch of the government got involved. Some division of one of the Intelligence Agencies, he wasn’t sure which one or even what it was called.

Now, John was lucky enough he knew who his Prime was, he just ... he didn’t know anything terribly _useful _about them. He just wanted to know exactly what kind of person Bilbo Baggins had been, and why he kept remembering some of the most unusual people and creatures John had ever heard of. Men, Elves, Dwarves (in particular a special thirteen Dwarves), Eagles, Dragons, monstrous Orcs, Goblins, Wargs, and that strange, sly creature Bilbo had encountered near Goblin-town once and stolen something from. Gollum, he was fairly certain that thing’s name had been Gollum. Maybe he would get those answers when he had a chance to read that file.

* * *

* * *


	7. Known Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John visits The Black Archive for the first time. Well, the first time he can remember. He's been to The Tower of London loads of times, but this is the first time he's heard of the Archive or been allowed to visit. And a grudge that is older than London is remembered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They say Elves rarely forget, but the memory of Hobbits can be just as long. And if there's one thing John hates the most, it's people who imagine themselves superior to everyone else. He had that problem in the Third Age with Thranduil, and if he was hoping he wouldn't have to deal with that particular personage in THIS lifetime, he's about to be sorely disappointed.

* * *

* * *

After they had finished lunch, for which Sholto paid the bill, John made the walk from The Keep to The Tower of London with Sholto and his father. The crowd to get in was rather large, the queue was quite long, but when Jacob and Sholto just walked right past all of the waiting ticket-holders, John stayed with them.

“I take it we’re not going to need tickets?” He asked with more than a bit of glee. He loved it when he got to do this sort of thing, usually only when his father was around.

“No, we’re not going to need tickets.” Sholto shot John a sly wink as they approached the ticket-takers at the head of the queue to get in.

As every time before, a pair of Yeoman Warders was there to take the entry tickets as each patron came through the entry gates. John did _not _miss how they weren’t even stopped, for longer than it took the pair to show badges. Oh, of _course, _they would be involved with the project! John managed to hide a smirk, but apparently not well enough, Jacob gave him a nudge.

“That’s just not right.” Someone in the queue behind them muttered. “That’s cheating, that is.” 

“Welcome to The Tower, Major Watson, Major Sholto.” The Warder who checked the badges looked past them to John, an eyebrow raised.

“William, this is my son, John.” Jacob put a hand on John’s shoulder. “I’m sure you’ve met him before.”

“Oh! Oh of _course_! Why bless me, I haven’t seen you in years, young man!” The Yeoman smiled wide and grabbed John by the arms, “You wouldn’t remember me at all, I think, but oh, I’ve got a good memory for faces!”

John frowned, knowing he had been here enough on unrelated business that he remembered most of the Warders and knew them by name. Jacob had called him William.

“Captain Bennett?” He only knew _one _Yeoman Warder named William. And the man looked vaguely familiar. The man’s smile grew and his grip tightened.

“God bless you, John Watson, you are looking fit!”

“I look awful!” John laughed, “I’ve been _gone _for the last year, and I look it!”

“Nah, lad! Good to see you’re staying out of trouble!” William Bennett hugged him. “I know you’re here on far more important business than visiting an old-timer like me, so I won’t keep you!”

“Is the Curator in today, Captain?” Jacob asked mildly. “We’ve business in The Black Archive, we’d like to speak to him if he’s in.”

“Oh, aye, he’s in.” William’s demeanour turned grim but his smile didn’t falter much. “You know where you’ll find him.”

“Of course I do.” Jacob didn’t quite smile, but he showed an upturn of the corner of his mouth that John knew indicated amusement.

“There’s some new faces down there, not all of ‘em all that fond of people sticking their noses in the business going on.”

“Siger’s boy finally joined us?” Apparently, this was not news to Jacob. William rolled his eyes, which said quite enough of what _he _thought of the matter.

“Why am I _not _surprised?” That same voice muttered as they were let through the gates. John could _feel _that woman’s eyes burning into his back, her spite because he got to skip the queue and she couldn’t.

“Of course that queer Baggins can just walk in the front door like it’s no matter to him! Who does he think he is?”

Oh great. Someone who had known Bilbo? This could not end well. How had she even known him?

John looked over his shoulder, found the woman who had complained about them getting in without tickets, and gave her the most ornery smile he could muster.

“John.” Jacob scolded quietly.

“What?”

“I saw that.”

“So what?” He shrugged. “I have no _idea _who she is, but whoever she was Before, she knew Bilbo.”

“How do you know that?”

“She wouldn’t stop staring at me while we were at the gate with William, and she called me “that queer Baggins” just a minute ago.”

“Who was it?” Both Jacob and Sholto stopped and looked at him sternly.

“That older woman who was towards the front of the queue when we arrived, the rather heavyset woman with a horrendous dye-job and never mind her bad tan.”

“I know which one she was. She’ll definitely be in Bilbo’s file, and she’ll have her own.” Sholto shook his head.

“It was only a matter of time before someone else recognized you, son.” Jacob patted him on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t worry too much until we know more about who her Prime is.”

“Oh, I’m not worried.” John shrugged. “I know people think I’m strange, but I don’t think I’ve ever been called _that _before.”

“Facial-recognition is a beautiful thing, lad. We’ll have a name on her before long.” Sholto promised as they made their way to the White Tower. They joined the crowds coming and going, but broke off shortly, going through a door marked “Private: Restricted Access” that was right off the entry stairs below the main entrance. You needed a key to get in, but they _had _a key, so in they went. No one seemed to notice, or even care.

Once inside, John pulled the door shut and instinctively locked it behind him. He suspected there was another way in and out, and it was always better to be too cautious. A passage of sorts lay before them, only a few metres long, with a staircase leading down at the end of it. This was clearly part of the original structure, but the lighting was modern.

“John.” His father drew his attention and he followed them down the stairs. They went down, down, down, far underground.

“Just … out of curiosity, how far down are we?” He asked as they walked along a corridor lined with wooden doors.

“Three stories, more or less,” Sholto said, looking over his shoulder at John. “The Archive was initially _much _smaller, everything written on parchment and kept in books or scrolls of the stuff.”

“But as time went on, and technologies advanced, steps to preserve and transcribe the existing records were taken,” Jacob added as he led them down another short passage.

“That’s … wow.” John was impressed.

They finally came into a long, wide chamber with arched ceilings through a set of sturdy metal doors behind a much older set of wooden doors. This whole room was protected by state-of-the-art atmospheric controls and security systems. It had been broken up into different sections, including glass-enclosed preservation-rooms with specific humidity control in place.

“The Project Comeback files are not the only thing kept in this Archive,” Jacob said, “but this is perhaps some of the most important information in the world.”

“Yeah, I bet it is.” John kept his hands in his pockets and looked around as they approached a circulation desk with stations for up to four people. There was one person at the station right now, an elderly fellow who looked like he knew his business but knew how to put you at ease.

Hearing their footsteps, and quite possibly the doors opening, he raised his head and spotted them coming. Recognizing Jacob, he broke into a big smile.

“Well, well, well! Jacob Watson, you mad scoundrel! What brings you back here after all this time?”

“Good afternoon, Mr Smith.” Jacob returned the smile. “We’re here on business.”

“Must be pretty serious business, you’ve not been here in ages.”

“Serious enough. We need access to one of the files.”

“Oh, sure you do! And that’s what we do here.” Mr Smith just grinned, “Who were you after?”

“One of the Primes. We’ve recently discovered a Scion.”

“Which one?”

“Baggins.”

“The Burglar?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, that’s been a while, hasn’t it!” Mr Smith narrowed his eyes and did something on the computer before him. After some research and a few minutes, he held out a single sheet of paper, on which was printed the basic information.

“Thanks for that.” Jacob took it and handed it to John.

“Glad to help.”

“John, give me your id.”

“Here.” John handed over his id and read the paper. All that was on it was the date of birth, date of death (or “passing”, in this case, whatever that meant), the full name of the Prime, and the cabinet and drawer number for the file.

“You know, Doctor Watson,” the old man glanced at John’s id, then up at his face, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “We have rules against doctors visiting The Black Archive.”

“I’m _a_ doctor, Mr Smith, but probably not the one you’re expecting.” John just smiled at him.

“Oh, you’re a clever one, aren’t you?” Mr Smith chuckled.

“Come on, son.” Jacob patted him on the shoulder, “Time to go hunting.”

“Right then.” John glanced at old Mr Smith as they headed for one section of the room, the old man just smiled and waved.

“Someone around here a fan of Doctor Who?” He asked in a curious whisper.

“Maybe.” Jacob looked at him and grinned. “He likes you alright, son, he’s been keeping an eye on you since you were born.”

“Did you _know_ back then?” John had always wondered how long his father had known he was a Scion.

“We suspected, but weren’t absolutely certain until you started wandering off on your little adventures and mentioning Bilbo Baggins.” Jacob shook his head.

“And I _never _told your mother, she wouldn’t have understood.” Which was very, unfortunately true. And maybe they hadn’t _told _Margaret Watson, but John would be damned if she didn’t know he was a Scion. Maybe not who he had been Before, but his mother had not been a stupid woman by any means.

After a bit of searching, they found the file they’d come for. It was four volumes thick, one for the Prime and one each for the three Scions. Some were thicker than others, Bilbo’s being the thickest. Not that John’s volume was small by any means. Picking out his volume and Bilbo’s, John sat down at a nearby work-table and started reading. In the Baggins family-tree, which someone had painstakingly transcribed from original records, he found a name that stood out.

“Lobelia … Sackville-Baggins.” He read the name to himself and that woman’s face came to mind.

“Da?”

“Hmm?” His father sat across the table, reading a different record.

“I need to find the file for Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. I think it was her Scion who recognized me at the gates.”

“I’ll get it, John.” Sholto was already on his feet and on the move. “You stay there.” Not that John had planned on wandering off anytime soon, he had some research needed doing.

John was looking at photos of himself side-by-side with an original sketch of his Prime, and thinking they really did look like each other, when they were apprehended. John heard the footsteps first, the voice next.

“Ah. Major Watson. Mr Smith said you had come here.” There was something posh and … condescending about that voice. “I wasn’t expecting to see you for at least a few more months.”

“Ah! Mr Holmes!” His father looked up and over John’s head, whoever it was had stopped behind him. “Good to see you, sir!”

“You know, Major, there are rules in place for a very good reason.” Mr Holmes, whoever he was, definitely had a complex. John hadn’t seen his face yet, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

“Not just anyone is allowed to access The Black Archive.” Mr Holmes said snidely.

“Don’t talk down to me, son,” Jacob said in that quiet tone of voice that had always scared John into behaving himself. “I _made _the rules while you were still languishing in Secondary School.”

“And yet you seem content to disregard our safety-protocols and have allowed an … outsider, to enter The Black Archive?”

“Mr Holmes, allow me to introduce you to my son.” Jacob gave John a certain look, he was already up on his feet.

“This is my son, John Watson.”

Turning, John came face-to-face with a tall, heavy-set young man with red hair, pale skin, grey eyes, and a very hawk-like countenance. He was taller than John by nearly a full foot, maybe more, and looked very arrogant. John knew the type, he’d met plenty of them during his wandering days.

“John Watson, meet Mycroft Holmes.” Jacob introduced them. “He’s relatively new to his position in the Archive, but he knows everything he needs to about Project Comeback.” They sized each other up like a pair of strange dogs meeting for the first time. Right down to and not limited to circling each other.

“_This_ is the Hobbit?” Holmes scoffed, “This is Thorin Oakenshield’s Burglar?” 

“I’m sorry, have we met?” John asked bluntly. He was used to people thinking poorly of him, but this was the second time today someone he had not met before seemed to know more about him than he did. And it was the first time someone else had spoken _that _name out loud.

“Not much to look at, is he?” Holmes sneered. John bristled under the patronizing but kept his mouth shut. For now.

_This is not Thorin Oakenshield. This is someone else. _He thought to himself, _Why do I know him? Who else did Bilbo know who acted like such a pompous arse-hole?_ There were a few who came to mind, but none who would have acted so pompous and arrogant.

And then it hit him. He knew who Mycroft Holmes had been Before. He also knew why Captain Bennett had warned them about Holmes without mentioning his name. And why Jacob had known regardless.

“Fucking hell, you're Thranduil!” He said. “No wonder I didn’t recognize you!”

“Hmm. Not very bright, are you, Watson?” Holmes looked down at him, clearly unimpressed. John had about had it with people treating him as less-than and finally spoke his mind.

“Listen, Your Majesty,” he snarled, “the last time I had a damn thing to do with any of you, I did you a fucking favour!”

“I seem to recall you stole something of mine, Burglar.”

“The keys to your dungeon, yes. And then I released thirteen Dwarves you had wrongly imprisoned.” He stood at his full height, spine straight, shoulders stiff, “I am not sorry for that!”

“Wrongly imprisoned?”

“And _then_, out of some misguided sense of self-preservation and probably the fact that I was so desperately homesick, I handed over the Arkenstone!” John shouted, glaring up at Holmes. “That is something I have never, not in centuries or generations, forgiven myself for!”

“John, manners,” Jacob said calmly, secretly delighted by his son’s stubborn Tookish nature coming out in the face of someone who never really respected him in the first place.

But John didn’t care if his father disapproved, he wasn’t letting this pompous jerk get away with insulting him to his face. Behind his back was one thing, to his face was very different. Especially when they had only just met each other. He was not at all intimidated by the man's greater height or who he was Before or even who he was Now.

“Well, if you _are _the Third Scion of Bilbo Baggins, be careful whom you chose to trust, Mr Watson.” Holmes looked him up and down once, “It wouldn’t do for you to fall in with the wrong sorts, after all.”

“That’s _Doctor _Watson to you, Mr Holmes.” John spat. “You could at least give me the courtesy of using my professional title.” 

“Oh, that’s right. You graduated medical school from King’s College London, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did. Last year, in fact.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t settled into clinic-work or an A&E posting by now.”

“As opposed to doing what?”

“Trekking off across the United Kingdom and Europe on a potentially misguided sabbatical.”

“It’s not like I stormed the Lonely Mountain and stole the Arkenstone again, so I don’t see how _that _is any of your fucking business, Mr Holmes.” He said firmly, refusing to look away or back down. Behind him, his father snickered.

“Well, good luck in your future endeavours, Doctor Watson,” Holmes said stiffly, insincerely. “Whatever those may be.”

“He’s due in Westbury by tomorrow evening,” Sholto spoke up then. “But I have all the faith in the world in Doctor Watson. If anyone can pass the Selection Boards, he can.”

“Oh, you’re joining the Armed Services, are you?”

“Yes, sir, the Army. Like my father, and my grandfather before me.”

“An interesting career-choice for someone like you, isn’t it?” Holmes looked down his nose at John, who clenched his jaw. “A bit ... dangerous?”

“If you know _anything _about Bilbo Baggins, you know this isn’t the first time I’ve seen combat.”

“But you are _not _Bilbo Baggins. Are you?”

“I’m more like him than the other two were!” John tilted his chin and stared the other man down. “Do not underestimate me, Mr Holmes, you may come to regret your disrespect.” A muscle twitched under the man’s left eye, and he seemed about to say something else nasty, but thought better of it and simply turned on his heel, striding away in a huff.

“Ooh, I _never _liked Thranduil! And I certainly don’t like Mycroft Holmes!” John snorted once he was gone, “Is he going to be a problem?”

“Not if we’re in his way.” Jacob patted him on the shoulder. “You handled yourself well enough, son.”

“That’s twice today, just in the same visit!” He said brusquely, “I’m not going to stand for someone like Thranduil’s haughty Scion treating me like I’m worthless! I get that enough at home, ta, I don’t need it from strangers!”

“The likes of Thranduil’s First Scion or your Sackville-Baggins cousins?”

“Yes, that.” John blew out a sharp breath and relaxed muscles tensed for conflict.

“Of all three of the Scions on record, you are by far the most like Bilbo.” Jacob smiled as he sat down again and picked up where he’d left off in reading. “And it shows. Your Tookish nature is showing itself a bit more.”

“You don’t seem to mind.”

“Because I don’t mind.” Jacob sat down across from him, “Considering how closely involved _my _Prime was with yours, it does not surprise me at all.”

“You have a Prime?” John blinked. He wasn’t terribly surprised, but he hadn’t expected someone like his father to have a Past Life of his own.

“I do have a Prime.”

“No wonder you know so much and are so involved with Project Comeback!” John smiled, “Who was he?”

“His name was Boromir. He was a soldier in the Army of Gondor, and the first-born son and primary heir of Denethor II, Ruling Steward of Gondor.”

“That’s neat.” John thought that made perfect sense for his father to be Scion to a decorated soldier. “How did he have anything to do with Bilbo?”

“He travelled for a time with Bilbo’s nephew, Frodo, and eight of his companions.”

“Oh, that’s interesting!” John turned to the proper page in Bilbo’s file and found the family tree. It looked like Frodo Baggins was not only Bilbo’s nephew but also a cousin.

But what interested John the most was a list of names that did not belong to family. There were further records under those headings, but it was the names John wanted to know more about, the names he actually remembered.

“Thorin. There you are.” John found that name first and traced its letters with one finger.

“Find something, son?” Jacob inquired.

“Do I need permission from Mr Smith to take out other volumes?”

“No. Just run the barcode under the scanner when you take a new one out. We’ll scan all of the records back in before we leave.”

“Okay.” John nodded and made a note of the shelf-location of the file he wanted. There were at least four he wanted, so he went off to find them: Thorin Oakenshield, the brothers Fíli and Kíli, and Dwalin. Four members of The Company of Thorin Oakenshield.

It didn’t take long for John to find the files he wanted and scan out the volumes he was interested in. Taking the lot back to the work-table, he did some reading up. There wasn’t much about Thorin and the others he didn’t already know, but it was nice to refamiliarize himself with their histories. It was their Scions he was really interested in knowing more about. He learned their names and memorized them: Thomas Oakley, Philip and Killian Duran, and Davin Lindsey.

Asking permission, he was able to retain photocopies of some photographs taken of Oakley, the Durans, and Lindsey. He wouldn’t go out of his way to find them, of course, but it was nice to know that some of the most important people in Bilbo’s life had Scions that he might someday be lucky enough to reunite with. John wasn’t sure if any of them would remember him, but he would worry about that when the time came. Not _if _the time came, _when _the time came. John knew better than to think he would live out the rest of his existence in this lifetime without meeting the others. He might be fortunate enough to encounter them during his military service. At any rate, it gave him something to look forward to, and he didn’t mind a little good news for once.

* * *

* * *


	8. The Dragon's Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft Holmes encounters John Watson at The Black Archives. It goes as well as could be expected. Which is to say, it doesn't go very well at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happens when bad gets worse? Well, you pay a surprise visit to your little brother. After all, misery loves company. A bit of Holmes Bros interaction here, discussion of Past Life Primes and the troubles wrought upon them by the Company of Thorin Oakenshield. Old grievances die slowly.

* * *

* * *

As Mycroft Holmes walked away from the three men sitting at the worktable near Archive Section ME-14, he knew his expression was unpleasant. For most of his life, until this moment, in fact, he had managed to avoid encounters with anyone from his Prime’s past. There were several he did not mind, but any business with The Company of Thorin Oakenshield was definitely not his favourite.

Now, in fairness, he had been vaguely aware of a Third Scion of Bilbo Baggins but had never bothered to learn more beyond the presence of the Scion. As if ignoring the unlucky mortal would do him any good. It might, he didn’t have to think about that insufferable, clever little Halfling. So, when he came upon the Sons of Denethor perusing the records with a strangely familiar blond-haired fellow, Mycroft knew it was going to be unpleasant. And sure enough, he had been unwillingly introduced to Jacob Watson’s own, and only, son. His name was John Watson and he really wasn’t at all a remarkable man, being shorter than average and a bit short of temper as well.

It was when John Watson had stood face-to-face with Mycroft that he understood. Ah, so _this _was the Third Scion of Bilbo Baggins.

“This is the Hobbit?” Mycroft scoffed, “This is Thorin Oakenshield’s Burglar?” 

“I’m sorry, have we met?” Watson asked bluntly.

“Not much to look at, is he?” He sneered, unwilling to play nice with someone who had given his Prime so much unnecessary trouble. Him and those obstinate Dwarves. He watched as Watson’s eyes flashed through a series of emotions, watched as he turned over the evidence before him and came to a conclusion.

“Fucking hell, you're Thranduil!” He spat. “No wonder I didn’t recognize you!”

“Hmm.” Mycroft looked at him, clearly unimpressed. “Not very bright, are you, Watson?”

“Listen, Your Majesty,” he snarled, “the last time I had a damn thing to do with any of you, I did you a fucking favour!”

“I seem to recall you stole something of mine, Burglar,” Mycroft said blandly, one eyebrow raised.

“The keys to your dungeon, yes. And then I released thirteen Dwarves you had wrongly imprisoned.” Watson stood at his full height, spine straight, shoulders stiff, “I am not sorry for that!”

“Wrongly imprisoned?”

“And _then_, out of some misguided sense of self-preservation and probably the fact that I was so desperately homesick, I handed over the Arkenstone!” Watson shouted, glaring up at Mycroft, not at all intimidated by his greater height or who he had been Before or even who he was Now. Foolish, really.

“_That_ is something I have never, not in centuries or generations, forgiven myself for!”

“John, manners.” Major Watson said calmly, though he was rather amused by the exchange. Mycroft was _not _amused, however, and had far better things to do with his time than deal with the man’s disrespectful son.

“Well, if you _are _the Third Scion of Bilbo Baggins, be careful whom you chose to trust, Mr Watson.” Mycroft looked him up and down once, “It wouldn’t do for you to fall in with the wrong sorts, after all.”

“That’s _Doctor _Watson to you, Mr Holmes.” Watson spat. “You could at least give me the courtesy of using my professional title.”

“Oh, that’s right. You graduated medical school from King’s College London, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did. A year ago.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t settled into clinic-work or an A&E posting by now.” Which is what most _normal _people did. But clearly, that was not true for John Watson.

“As opposed to doing what?” Watson demanded through clenched teeth.

“Trekking off across the United Kingdom and Europe on a potentially misguided sabbatical.”

“It’s not like I stormed the Lonely Mountain and stole the Arkenstone again, so I don’t see why that is any of your fucking business, Mr Holmes.” He said firmly, refusing to look away or back down.

“Well, good luck in your future endeavours, Doctor Watson,” Mycroft said stiffly, insincerely. “Whatever those maybe.”

“He’s due in Westbury by tomorrow evening,” James Sholto, third of that company, spoke up then. “But I have all the faith in the world in Doctor Watson. If anyone can pass the Selection Boards, he can.”

“Oh, you’re joining the Armed Services, are you?” That was news to Mycroft, and it was especially bad news.

“Yes, sir, the Army. Like my father and my grandfather before me.”

“An interesting career-choice for someone like you, isn’t it?” Mycroft looked down his nose at Watson, who clenched his jaw again. “A bit ... dangerous?”

“If you know _anything_ about Bilbo Baggins, you know this isn’t the first time I’ve seen combat.”

“But you are _not_ Bilbo Baggins. Are you?” Valar be praised he was simply a Scion and _not _the Prime, not Bilbo Baggins.

“I’m more like him than the other two were!” John tilted his chin and stared Mycroft down. “Do not underestimate me, Mr Holmes, you may come to regret your disrespect.”

There was something decidedly distressing that settled over Mycroft’s skin and he drew himself up a bit, tightening his mask. A muscle twitched under his left eye, and he wanted to say something else nasty, but thought better of it and simply turned on his heel, striding away in a huff. He didn’t even say goodbye to them, but he was too troubled to care.

God damn it, John Watson was due to join The British Army! Without question, he would join the September Intake at Sandhurst in two months! And from there … dear god, he would surely encounter the Duran brothers. And if he found _them_, if he found Oakenshield’s nephews, there was absolutely no doubt at all in Mycroft’s mind that he would eventually find and reunite with Oakenshield himself. Mycroft could not allow that to happen, he just couldn’t!

But how on earth could he possibly thwart the young Scion’s efforts? Any action undertaken would be highly suspect, and the Sons of Denethor had never been particularly fond of him. They would, without a doubt, be protecting the Halfling at all costs and no one would get near him enough to cause trouble. And if whispers emerged, they would retaliate in the time it took to blink. What in the Valar’s name was he going to do about this?

**::^::**

Sherlock Holmes was no happier to see his brother than his brother was to be calling on him, but he rarely called without cause. So he knew something was afoot when Mycroft showed up unexpected, unannounced, and wholly unwelcome at his door.

“I am _clean_, brother. Please go away.” He said dismissively, leaving his brother standing in the doorway. “And do close the door on your way out?”

“I’ve just come from The Black Archives, Sherlock. From The White Tower.”

“Yes? Of course, you have. You _work _there now, don’t you?” He glanced at Mycroft as he lay down on the couch, “But that’s not the whole of it, is it?”

“No, I’m afraid it isn’t. Not at all.”

“Hmm. I assume, by your demeanour and bearing, that you’ve encountered someone you weren’t expecting to meet there.”

“Sherlock … ” Mycroft warned as Sherlock went through a list of everyone his interfering elder brother ever encountered while at The Black Archives or any of the satellite locations. He must have encountered one of the Scions, but who would have the power to make his brother so angry? No, not angry. He was nervous. He was _scared_.

“You met the Sons of Denethor while you were there, but they were with someone else. Someone you had not expected to ever meet, someone you remember and not fondly.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Sherlock!”

“Ooh, profanity!” He snickered. “Who, I _wonder_, has such power over the great Thranduil to make Mycroft Holmes so nervous?”

“Sherlock, don’t.”

“Let. Me. See.” Sherlock was back on his feet and circling his brother, picking up small hints here and there. There was a particular scent on his brother’s clothes that was unfamiliar to Sherlock, and yet he knew it.

“He’s beginning to remember, Sherlock.”

“Hmm?”

“The Burglar’s memories are coming more frequently.”

“Wait.” Sherlock frowned, “Who’s doing _what _now?”

“We’ve located the Third Scion of The Burglar Bilbo Baggins.” His brother’s expression was memorable.

“Oh. Is that all?” Sherlock snickered.

“Sherlock, this is serious,” Mycroft said sternly. “I’ve met this one, and he is … unlike anyone else I’ve ever encountered.” Oh, someone his brother couldn’t intimidate into submission? That was rare indeed. And better still if it turned out this one _was _a Scion of Bilbo Baggins.

Sherlock knew everything there was _to _know about Past Lives and Past Life Primes. He had hacked into the databases of The Black Archives where all of the files regarding the subjects of Project Comeback over a year ago in search of his own file. He knew about Smaug The Stupendous, and the thirteen Dwarves who had laid siege to The Lonely Mountain seeking to reclaim a treasure-hoard they said was their birthright. He knew about the fourteenth of their number, a Hobbit from lands far to the west of Erebor and anywhere Smaug had ventured before. The clever, clumsy creature had sought to steal from The Mountain, had nearly succeeded. Smaug had not survived his siege of Lake-Town, but the battle had not ended with his death. That, in truth, had only been the beginning of the end.

“Well, who is he?” Sherlock sat down again, grinning at his brother, “What sort of man is he?”

“Why do you suddenly care?”

“Because there’s something about this one, something different from anyone and everyone else you’ve ever met.” He raised an eyebrow, watching Mycroft wander his cramped studio flat, looking for Christ alone knew what.

“And you don’t _like _that.”

“What do you want me to say, Sherlock?”

“There’s something about _this _one, this Third Scion of Bilbo Baggins, that has you more worried than I’ve ever seen you.” He studied his older brother, “I _know _what Baggins did to the Elves of Mirkwood, but there’s more to this.”

“I told you, Sherlock. He travels with the Sons of Denethor.”

“It’s more than just that. I know you’ve never gotten along with them, a mutually hostile relationship. Why are you so concerned?”

“Because _this _man is the Third Scion of Bilbo Baggins.” Mycroft handed him a photograph from the file he had with him. “_This _man is The Burglar. And believe me, Smaug, when I say, he _remembers_.” Sherlock hadn’t heard that name in … ages. Centuries. And certainly not from Mycroft.

He looked up from the photograph of a rather unkempt-looking young man taken from surveillance cameras in a foreign city, shorter than average with unruly fair hair and eyes that, if the photograph were colourized, might be some shade of blue.

“This man?” He held it up for his brother.

“Yes.”

“What was he doing at The Black Archives?”

“He was looking for the names of The Company, their Scions, faces he might not remember. Names he would not know … ”

“Until today.” Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “Why are you so concerned?”

“Because he is due to enrol at Royal Military Academy Sandhurst with the September Intake in two months,” Mycroft said heavily, a decided air of defeat in his voice. “He goes to Westbury tomorrow.”

“And you have no influence with the Boards.”

“No, regrettably. And I’m afraid that even if I _did_, my influence would be of little use and my interference unwelcome.”

“It’s not Watson _or _Baggins, you’re afraid of.” There were very few people his brother legitimately respected, fewer still he respected enough that their influence scared him.

“This isn’t fear, this is … respect.” Sherlock said quietly. “Who is it?”

“These are the men he came with today.” Mycroft held out another photograph. Sherlock took it from his brother, not missing the slight tremor.

“I know you’re familiar with both of them, you’ve certainly spent enough time at The Tower and our satellite locations making a nuisance of yourself.”

“Jacob Watson and James Sholto.” He did recognize both of the men in the photograph. But then, glancing at the photograph of John Watson, he understood far better _why _Mycroft was so agitated and yet subdued.

“Oh, John Watson is Jacob Watson’s son.”

“Do you see my problem? Do you understand why my hands are more or less tied?”

“I _would _say I’m sorry, Dear Brother, but that would not be entirely sincere.” He set the photographs aside. “I _am _sorry that you seem to have met your match, once again, in the most unlikely of creatures, but I’m not sorry that you can’t do anything about this.”

“If he _finds _them, Sherlock!”

“Then so be it. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Lest you forget, _Dear Brother_,” the words were spat out, “the Dwarves laid siege to your mountain and raided your lair for treasures of greater worth than anything in this age.”

“My greed was my downfall, and yet, here I am.” He looked at his brother, “I’m keeping those photographs, Mycroft. Good luck with Watson.”

“I will see if, at a later date, some … arrangements can be made.”

“You can’t keep him from the Dwarves, Thranduil. His loyalty was always first to the Dwarves, to Thorin Oakenshield.” He said as his brother let himself out of the flat. “I guarantee that hasn’t changed in the centuries and ages and lifetimes that have passed since the end of the Third Age.”

“Goodbye, brother.” Mycroft looked back at him, “Please do try and stay out of trouble?”

“I told you, I’m _clean_.” He rolled his eyes. “Goodbye, Mycroft.”

The only sound in the flat then was the sharp click as Mycroft closed the door, the rattle of the lock falling into place. Kind of Mycroft to lock his door for him.

“So, your name is John Watson this time, is it?” He picked up the photograph of the Third Scion and studied it again. Sherlock chuckled, tracing the features of a face he had memorized long ago and hadn’t seen since the day a bumbling, polite burglar had stumbled into his lair in search of a gemstone worth twice, three times over what the whole of the Royal Treasury contained within it.

“Not much to look at, are you? And yet, appearances, my dear Burglar, can be _ever_ so deceiving.”

* * *

* * *


	9. Beginning of Tomorrow Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John makes his first visit to Westbury. He has some ... interesting company for the Briefing. Not that he minds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1

* * *

* * *

The first thing after finishing their business at The Black Archives, John went with Jacob and Sholto and set about getting ready for his first visit to Westbury. Among John’s preparations, he got a haircut to Army regulation standards, got a shave, and stood for a same-day fitting for something a bit more formal than denims and tee-shirts. They ordered a two-piece suit, a waistcoat, three shirts, and another pair of trousers, and the tailor promised to have the order ready no later than noon the following day.

The Briefing was on Saturday, they were heading down tomorrow so they could spend the night _in _Westbury and get to the AOSB on time early on Saturday morning. Arrival-time was at 8:00 am sharp, registration and processing from 8:00 to 9:00 am, and then straight into the madness. Strangely, John wasn’t actually nervous. He was excited, but not really concerned about things.

They returned to Grantham to tell Hannah, who was happy for John but also sad to see him leaving again so soon.

“I’ll come home when I’ve the time to, Mum, I promise,” John said, intending to keep that promise if it killed him. “Between my Boards, at least. And before I go off to Sandhurst for sure.”

“Just don’t disappear on us, John Watson.” She scolded, kissing him on the cheek, “You’re going to look so _handsome _in your uniform, I just know it!”

“Mum!” John rolled his eyes.

“Oh, hush! You know I’m right!” Hannah gave him a stern look that was ruined by her smile.

Jacob and Sholto were loving watching John squirm under Hannah’s mothering, and they weren’t about to stop her. But Sholto finally took pity on him and suggested they go out for dinner as a family. So, they drove to Nottingham and had dinner at Canalhouse to celebrate John’s new career. John had a good night out with his family and slept very well that night.

The next morning, he got up a little later than he had on Thursday and joined the rest of the family for breakfast. Sholto had stayed over for the night, so he was there, too. After breakfast, he made a second trip from Grantham to London. It was almost identical to the trip he’d made yesterday, with an exception for the timing of the trip itself. When they got to London, their next stop was a quick stop for lunch and then the tailor they’d visited yesterday to pick up the ordered outfits. This trip, unlike yesterday, was short and all business.

Once their business in London had been concluded, they returned to Grantham so John could get an overnight bag and repack for the Briefing. He said goodbye to Hannah and Bodie, who was very much aware that John was leaving again and fussed until he promised to come back as soon as he could. Then it was off to RAF Barkston Heath for the trip to Westbury.

“Why are we going to Barkston Heath?” John inquired as they made the drive from Grantham to the base fifteen minutes away. “Wouldn’t it be easier to take the train or drive?”

“Slower. Besides, the way _we’re _getting to Westbury is far more exciting than driving down or even taking the train.” Jacob looked over his shoulder at John, who sat in the back seat of the car, “And faster, besides.”

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

“Nope. Don’t you dare tell ‘im, James.” Jacob said sharply, glaring over at Sholto, who wore a very unsubtle shit-eating grin.

“Who said I was gonna tell ‘im anything, Jake?” Sholto said glibly. “I know how to keep my trap shut.”

“I wonder sometimes.” That got Sholto a dirty look. John chuckled, enjoying the easy banter between his father and god-father.

“Oh, fine, I’ll find out when we get there.” John rolled his eyes and settled in for the rest of the short drive.

When they reached their ultimate destination, John shouldered his overnight bag and the folding garment bag he’d packed his formalwear in before leaving Grantham and followed Jacob and Sholto into the nearby low-lying building. He had visited the Air Force base before with his dad, so this wasn’t a first for him. They stopped at a long curved desk manned by six uniformed Airmen, and John surrendered his id to his father and set his bags on a luggage-scale before stepping onto a scale himself when requested to do so.

“He’s with the lot heading for Westbury, then?” The young woman who was checking them in looked at John and smiled prettily.

“Yes he is, Lieutenant. All goes well and it could be quite a while before he comes back this way.”

“Well, good luck, Doctor Watson!” She said cheerfully as she returned John’s id. “Have a good flight!”

“Yeah, thanks.” He returned her smile and looked at his dad.

“Captain Richards has your gear ready in the club room, Major Watson.” The pretty young lieutenant said to Jacob, who nodded.

“Thank you, Lieutenant Brian. Jim, can you handle John and the rabble-rousers who’ll be showing their sorry faces in the next five minutes?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time, would it?” Sholto grinned and put a hand on John’s shoulder as he picked up his bags. “Come on, son, we’ve got a flight to catch.”

“A flight to catch?” John watched his father go through a nearby door marked “Restricted Access: RAF Personnel Only”. There seemed to be an awful lot of “Restricted Access” doors in the last few days.

“A flight on _what_, exactly?”

“Come take a look.” Sholto led him towards the opposite side of the building, which was nothing but a wall of ballistics glass looking out over one of the base’s landing-zones.

Out on the tarmac were a number of stationary helicopters, John was able to recognize Bell UH-1Ns, but gathered near the door was a small mismatched group of civilians. People like John, young and fresh out of university or trade-school, ready to take the next step into what promised to be an interesting future. Well, John was a year out of school, that didn’t exactly qualify as “fresh out of”, did it?

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen!” Sholto called out in that voice of his. “If you would gather ‘round please!” Uncertain about what came next, they gathered in close so Sholto wouldn’t have to raise his voice as much.

“Well done, you’ll be doing that a lot more over the next forty-eight hours. Your flight to Westbury AOSB is leaving in fifteen minutes, you had all better be on that bird.” Sholto grinned, “We aren’t waiting for lollygaggers and we aren’t turning around for anyone who shows up after we’re in the air. And if you forgot something at home, well, it’s a bit too late now. Whatever it is, you can and will make do without.”

There was a nervous shuffle and murmuring as people tried to remember if they had everything they needed for the Briefing. There were a couple John didn’t see making it past the Main Board, but for the most part, he wasn’t underwhelmed by the potential.

“Ladies and gentlemen, your Briefing starts right now. The hard bits begin tomorrow, but it starts right now, right here, before we get ourselves anywhere _near _Westbury. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you.” Oh, Sholto was playing hardball.

“Yes, sir.” This time the response was proper. John managed to keep a straight face, at least until he looked to his right and met the gaze of the bloke standing just off his shoulder, blocked from him by the girl standing between them. He had noticed him before but hadn’t paid him much heed. But now, he got a sly grin and a wink and almost burst out laughing.

“Is something funny, Doctor Watson?” Sholto had noticed, of course, he had noticed.

“No, Major Sholto.” John cleared his throat and turned his attention back to his god-father. Not that Sholto believed him for a minute, and John didn’t expect him to.

He stood quietly through the whole of Sholto’s briefing, but he wasn’t really paying attention like he should have been. Something about that smile bothered him. Itched at him. What was it? Who was he? Someone Bilbo had known? He seemed to be running into an awful lot of people his Prime had known, especially in the last twenty-four hours or so.

Five minutes before they were due to take off, Sholto led them out onto the tarmac to the line of waiting choppers. Only one had its engines warming, that would be their ride to Westbury. The crew-chief stood at the ready by the door and John could see the pilot sitting in the cockpit going over pre-flight checks. He recognized the profile right away.

“Well, if it ain’t always something.” He muttered, shaking his head as he readjusted the strap of his garment bag on his shoulder.

“What’s something?” Someone behind him whispered, half-lost in the roar of the engines. John looked over his shoulder. It was the same bloke who’d made him smile earlier.

“The pilot’s my dad is all!” He explained as they reached the chopper.

“Ah! A military brat, like me!”

“You’ve family in the military, too?”

“Uncle’s in the Army, he’s the reason I’m doing this!” The brunet gave him a big smile and a smack on the shoulder than almost toppled him, but John stood his ground. They handed off their bags to the crew-chief, who made short work of stowing everything in the cargo-hold and climbed in one at a time as their names were read off of a roster by Sholto

“Watson! Duran! You’re gonna get pretty cosy on the flight over, better get busy making friends!” Sholto announced and John shared a look with Duran. Well, he had a name now. And a name that sounded damn familiar. Why? He’d heard it very recently. Shrugging, John extended one hand to Duran, giving him first dibs on their seats. Duran just shook his head.

“After you!”

“Are you sure?”

“I insist!” Duran grinned and cupped his hands, “In you go, Mr Baggins!”

Without thinking about what he was doing, John put his off-side foot in Duran’s cupped hands and took the unsolicited but welcome boost into the chopper. It was only once he was sitting down and buckling his three-point harness that it occurred to him what Duran had called him.

“Fíli!” He looked over and up as Duran clambered in and sat down next to him, wondering if he looked as surprised and excited as he felt. Was it really Thorin’s nephew? After all this time?

“Ears on!” His father called from the cockpit, and John grabbed the headset behind his seat, setting it in place.

“Private channel’s open, feel free to talk amongst yourselves!” Sholto pitched in as he climbed into the co-pilot’s seat in the cockpit once they were all seated in the cabin and buckled in properly. The crew-chief double-checked everyone’s harnesses and gave the all-clear to the pilots. John did not miss how the door was left open. They were flying out there doors-open, then? Neat.

Once the door had been secured for flight, the radio was muted while flight-crew talked to the control towers and got them off the ground, and John leaned over to look out the window. He watched as they were given the all-clear and allowed to take off.

They hovered for several minutes, as was standard, and John itched to ask if they could sit in the door. Civilians usually weren’t allowed to sit on the door-sill during flight, but God he wanted to. Duran tapped him on the shoulder and he took a slip of paper the brunet held out for him. On it was a few hastily-scribbled words.

** **

** _Ask if we can sit in the door on the way to Westbury._**

John nodded and leaned forward, reaching out to tug on the crew-chief’s sleeve and hand him the note. The chief took the slip of paper and looked at it without reading it. John just pointed past him to the pilots. The chief chuckled and handed it over to Jacob, explaining what it was John and Duran were asking for. Jacob looked over his shoulder and smiled, giving them a thumbs up. The radio crackled and he heard Sholto’s voice on the pick-up.

_“You boys can sit in the doors, just be smart about it!” _Sholto said over the headset. _“Use the safety-belts under your seats! Chief Simon will help you buckle up!” _John and Duran nodded and gave thumbs-up to show they’d heard and received.

The crew-chief was already on the move, so they were quick to unbuckle their harnesses and retrieve the crewman safety-belts stashed under their seats. Chief Simon was quick and efficient and double-checked the belts once they were secure around the boys’ waists before attaching them to the tethers and hooking them into the anchor-points above the open door. John was able to sit right on the edge of door-sill without sliding off. A fall-arrester would catch him before he fell too far, but he wasn’t worried about that.

That channel had apparently been closed, no one else seemed to have overheard or noticed their exchange, judging by the startled, dirty looks they were getting from the others. John was not sorry at all, and neither was Duran. Of course, he wasn’t, it was Fíli for fuck’s sake!

_“Jack, you and Philip have this channel to yourselves!” _Jacob called from the front as Simon tugged on their tethers and giving them the all-clear._“I’ll ping and mute when we’re ready to land!”_

_“Thanks, Da!” _John watched as the ground beneath them shrank away and they gained altitude.

It was one thing to be strapped into a seat, something else to be sitting on the door-sill with his feet hanging out. One hand closed around the “oh shit” handle on the bulkhead, the other held the tether, and he leaned out as far as he could as they kept ascending along their flight-path. He heard a muffled yelp and a hand closed around his bicep without warning. Looking over, John saw Philip imitating him and grinned at the other man.

_“How the fuck are we getting away with any of this, Watson?” _

_“I told you!” _He laughed, letting go of the tether to take Philip’s hand in his, squeezing, _“My da’s the pilot!”_

_“I take it this isn’t the first time you’ve done this, then?”_

_“Well, in this capacity, it is!” _John looked down at the landscape spread out below their feet, _“But I’ve been flying my dad’s choppers since I was fourteen! He’s had the same crew for that long!” _

_“What about the Chief?”_

_“Simon?” _John shook his head,_ “Nah, he gave up on me years ago!” _

_“Said if you got hurt, it was your own fucking fault?”_

_“Somethin’ like that!” _As if knowing he was being talked about, Mitchell Simon looked up and raised an eyebrow. John just smiled at him, which got an eye roll.

_ “I can’t believe it’s you!” _ He looked over at Philip. _“I mean ... I ... ”_

_“What were the chances you and I would ever meet again?” _Philip smiled and scooted closer. _“Didn’t have any faith, Bilbo?”_

_“I _buried _you, Fíli! You, and Kíli, and Thor -- ” _He stalled, clenched his teeth as his eyes burned. _“I had to bury Thorin! It almost killed me to lose you all like that!”_

_“But you didn’t_ _lose me, Bilbo,” _Philip said softly, squeezing his hand tightly. _“I came back to you, and you came back to me.”_

_“Please don’t leave me again, Fíli, please don’t.” _He begged. Philip was the first of The Company’s Scions he had encountered and that was not something to be taken for granted.

Since they were flying low-altitude for the duration of the flight from Barkston Heath to Keevil Airfield, John and Philip were able to sit in the doors from take-off to landing. They were back in their seats before they touched down on the tarmac at Keevil Airfield, giddy as a pair of children skipping school. Anyone who bothered to speak up about the stunt was hushed. They were old childhood friends, and this was an auspicious reunion. John had been sitting on the door-sill longer than most of them had been out of Secondary, he knew what he was doing and would take responsibility not only for himself but for Philip as well. But it wouldn’t come to that because they hadn’t done anything wrong.

After arriving at Keevil Airfield, John joined the rest of the group and took a bus from the airfield to a hotel in Warminster that was a five-minute drive to Westbury. That would be extremely convenient in the morning. Settling room-arrangements incited a bit of grumbling because John and Philip got one of the two double rooms, but the way the group was split up worked out that the remaining six people were middle-split three men and three women. Room assignments had been made at the time of reservation, John and Philip had been placed together by sheer chance. The recent developments were simply coincidence and did not at all influence whether or not they got a room to themselves or stayed with the others. And it definitely wouldn’t matter when they got to Westbury tomorrow.

* * *

* * *


	10. Beginning of Tomorrow Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John makes his first visit to Westbury. He has some ... interesting company for the Briefing. Not that he minds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2  
**  
Relationship tags have been edited/added to!

* * *

* * *

After setting matters to rights, thanks to the interventions of Jacob and Sholto, they went their separate ways until morning. John was starving, so he popped down to one of the restaurants attached to the hotel and grabbed dinner for Philip and himself, returning victorious with sandwiches and drinks.

“You are a _lifesaver_, Bilbo,” Philip said with a big smile as John tossed him the bag with his food. He had the bags in one hand and the drinks in the other, and handed over one of those, too, as he sat down on the twin-bed that was his for tonight.

“Better than starving, and I’m pretty sure we’ve both had worse.”

“Oh, we have,” Philip smirked. “Though, I’m not sure much can beat out almost getting eaten by trolls.” John snorted, almost choked on his food.

“You remember _that_, don’t you?” Philip inquired innocently.

“Oh, shut up! Of course, I remember!” He coughed, clearing his throat. “I’m one the one who saved all your sorry arses by playing for time!”

“Well ... ”

“I seem to recall you telling me that mountain trolls were slow and stupid.” He just raised an eyebrow and took a sip of his drink.

“We didn’t lie to you!”

“I never said you had.” John grinned. “But if not for me and Gandalf, you’d all have been dead.”

“Well, we never said _we _were very smart, either.” Philip sniffed.

“Oh, I didn’t have a chance to tell you!” John set down his drink and sat up a bit against the headboard. “Guess who I ran into while I was in London yesterday?”

“No one who would have been happy to see you.” Philip’s expression became sly. “If you’d seen Kíli or Uncle Thorin, I’d have heard about it a long time before we met in Barkston Heath.”

“Oh, he was _not _happy at all once he realized whose Scion I was.” John giggled, remembering how scandalized Mycroft Holmes had been, how utterly irritated he had been when John refused to be cowed by him.

“You’re looking very pleased with yourself there, Burglar.” Philip’s eyes were sparkling, “Who on earth did you meet?”

“Thranduil.” He said calmly, taking a bite of his sandwich.

“No way!”

“Mhm.”

“No! You lie!”

“I wish I was!” John laughed at Philip’s expression, “Oh, he was so _angry _when he figured out who I was!”

“What’d he say?! Tell me what he said! You have to!”

“Well, first thing this pompous git does is yell at Da for “letting a civilian into the Archives” or some such nonsense.” John kept eating, taking a minute to chew and swallow before continuing. “Then, after he got a look at my face, he says ‘This is Thorin Oakenshield’s Burglar?’ in the most condescending tone of voice I’ve heard from anyone in a long while.”

“Thranduil!” Philip fell back on his bed, laughing. “Oh my god, he must have pissed himself! He must have been _spitting_!”

“He was. He absolutely was. I regret nothing I said to that smug sonuvabitch, Fee, not one damned thing.” John smiled, “I don’t think he liked the fact that not only was I talking back, but it was a Scion of Bilbo Baggins who was mouthing off.”

“He would have _hated _that! Oh, I am so sorry I missed that!”

“It was an interesting encounter.” He said with a shrug.

“I bet it was!” Philip giggled. It was unbecoming of adults to giggle like children, but the circumstances, the experience was so completely outrageous there was no other acceptable reaction.

“Stop laughing, Fíli, it’s not _that _funny!” John rolled his eyes at his amused friend.

They finished eating in peace, but Philip kept giggling every time he so much as _looked _at John, who finally threw a pillow at his head and told him to shut up before they got a visit from their chaperones for making too much noise. But Philip was in fine form and John finally took matters into his own hands. They wrestled, John ending up pinned beneath Philip, who grinned down at him.

“Huh.” Philip chuckled. “I seem to remember you being _shorter_, Mr Baggins.”

“Huh!” John snorted. “Same could be said for you, Your Highness!”

“Ooh, that was not fair.” Philip raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, don’t think I forgot you were Crown Prince of Erebor.” John squirmed and managed to get one hand free. “But so help me, if you die on me again, I will hunt you into the afterlife and drag you back kicking and screaming.”

“I make no promises, but I’ll do my best,” Philip said solemnly. “Can I please tell my uncle? He’s been searching for centuries.”

“I’d tell him myself if I had any idea where to find him.” John sighed as he thought of Thorin, of their last days together.

“What’s in that head of yours, Bilbo?” Philip asked softly.

“I’ve missed all of you, Fíli, and I spent most of yesterday in a secret government archive reading every piece of information they have on you.” He admitted around an ache in his throat. “The whole Company, but you and your brother and Thorin especially.”

“You missed _me_?”

“Yeah. But it took me ages to realize there were names and faces for the grief, the loneliness.”

“What did I just tell you, Bilbo?” Philip tilted his head and fixed him with a stern look. “On the flight over here, when you and me were sitting on the door-sill of your Da’s heli.”

“And breaking every rule of engagement without caring?”

“Yes. What did I tell you?”

“Tell me again?” John whispered, “Say the words again and mean it.”

“You were sad because you thought you’d lost me. But I told you.” Philip said softly, nuzzling John’s cheek. “ You didn’t lose me, Bilbo. I came back to you, and you came back to me.”

“And you won’t do anything stupid and leave me again?”

“I won’t leave without saying goodbye, and I will always do my best to come back to you.” He promised, lowering himself until they were chest-to-chest and nose-to-nose. “But only if you promise the same to me.”

“That’s … fair.” John agreed. The terms were more than fair.

“No more sadness, not tonight.” Philip declared.

“What did you have in mind, then?” John thought he might come to regret asking, but it couldn’t hurt.

“A few ideas.” He said, smiling in that way of his that lit up his whole face.

“Are these ideas of yours the sort that could get us in trouble if the wrong people found out?”

“Yep.”

“Y’know, Da’s not stupid.”

“I never took your father, just from the little I’ve had to do with him tonight, for an idiot.” Philip settled his weight against John, “But will he care if he notices? Will he say anything?”

“No. And ...no.” John narrowed his eyes. “Fili, what are you doing?”

“Nothing you’re going to hate me for in the morning.” Philip smiled down at him, head tilted to one side.

“That’s not very reassuring.” John snorted. That could be anything, and it probably would be something he would resent Philip for come daylight.

“Do you remember what we did while we were in Erebor?” He asked quietly. “Before my uncle’s madness took his sense and you were banished from our company?”

“Before I _betrayed_ our company, you mean.” John sighed. He had never been proud of that and regretted being forced to take such extreme measures.

“I never once blamed you for taking the Arkenstone to the Elves, you know.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Bilbo, don’t you dare.” Blue eyes hardened, “Even if he never forgave you until he was on his deathbed, my uncle did forgive you in the end. He didn’t want to die with that grudge still between you.”

“And he didn’t.” John leaned his head back. “I’m so sorry.”

“Stop it. None of us holds you responsible for that. If anyone is at fault in that mess, it was us.” Philip forced him to make eye-contact. “I will distract you tonight if it is the last thing I get done on this miserable earth.”

“Or else what?”

“For one, my uncle would have some words for both of us.” That got an eye-roll John hadn’t seen in ages and had kind of missed. “Not very nice ones.”

“And how, exactly, did you plan on doing that?” He inquired, stifling a grin. Fíli had always seemed to do everything in his power to make Bilbo smile, to make him laugh, as they made their way across Middle Earth on a foolhardy but well-intentioned quest.

“Well, before you got all gloomy and sad, I was going to show you.”

“Knock yourself out.” John settled to wait for whatever Philip had in mind.

He remembered how Bilbo and Fíli had spent their nights together before things had gone so terribly wrong, the comfort he had sought in the Crown Prince’s company and found in his bed. The kindness and compassion, the gentle devotion Fíli had shown him and shared with him. John was distracted by a touch on his face, fingertips tracing familiar features in a new face, and a soft, chapped press of lips against his. He kept his eyes closed and stayed still.

“Am I allowed to have this, Bilbo?” Philip whispered against his ear. “Can I have you tonight? Can I please take care of you, my Burglar?”

“We have a long weekend ahead.” John smiled up at Philip as he linked his hands between the broad shoulders. “Be gentle.”

“I always am.” Philip’s eyes sparkled and they got to work undressing each other. Each new span of skin was caressed and worshipped, small love-bites left where they would be concealed by clothing. Names were spoken in whispers, promises were made to be broken in daylight, a friendship older than their current lifetimes combined was remembered and reignited.

As he fell asleep in Philip’s arms several hours later, sharing the same small bed, John knew that whatever was waiting in his future, he had one of his dearest friends at his side and he never had to do this alone. Philip wouldn’t let him do this alone, and he appreciated that far more than he had the words to express it. But he knew he would never have to explain himself to someone like Philip Duran, and that meant so much to John, who lived his life wondering why he was so different and what made him that way. He hadn’t expected to run into any of the Company’s Scions this soon, he had only found their records _yesterday_! And yet, Fíli’s own Scion was snoring against his shoulder like it hadn't been centuries, ages, and lifetimes since the last time they’d seen each other alive. He knew better than to take small miracles for granted.

* * *

* * *


	11. The Prince and The Burglar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John visits Baker Street, meets yet another old friend of his, and John and Philip take some time for themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me forever to get this up! Life happened, and that is no excuse but it's the only one I've got! So, here you go, please enjoy!  
**  
Rating goes up here as things get steamy between the boys! All consensual, all sane, all safe! I promise. Now, I can't promise a certain Dwarf King won't be madly jealous to find out his nephew got first dibs, but we'll see.

* * *

* * *

John wasn’t sure what he had expected out of the Briefing, but having an old friend along had not been it. He wasn’t complaining, of course, it was delightful to have Fíli back in his life and better still to get to spend some time with him. And just like they had back when they had been together on the Quest for Erebor, they worked as an efficient team, leading the rest of their group in the races and trading ideas with each other when they were on their own.

Their interviews were probably the simplest part of the weekend, actually, and when John left his debrief interview with what was more or less a glowing recommendation for the Main Boards he would be undertaking, he felt only relief. He wouldn’t have to attend another Briefing, but it wouldn’t hurt any if he did.

“Even for a Medical Board?” He had to ask, it was only right to know exactly what was expected of him.

“It’s up to you, Doctor Watson. It’s the same process, more or less.”

“Thank you. I’ll … think about it.” He thanked the board and took his leave. He wouldn’t mind doing this all a second time, it was definitely a question to put before Major Sholto. Maybe when he got back to London after his first Main Board, he’d make time to talk to his god-father one-on-one. But that could wait, he still had to get through the first Main Board, still had some work to do.

“So? What’d they say, Bilbo?”

“Fíli!” John gave a startled jump at the sound of Philip’s voice and turned to find the Scion leaning against the wall around the corner from the interview-room.

“Jesus, don’t _do _that!”

“Well?” 

“Oh, rack off!” He huffed, “It went well. As well as it could have.”

“So, we’re stuck together for another week at their discretion?”

“Yes, but I’m sure neither of us minds.” He gave the Royal Scion a sly look.

“I sure don’t mind!” Philip grinned, throwing an arm around John’s shoulders. “So, what now?”

“We find somewhere to lay low until we hear back to report for the Main Boards.”

“Want to go home?”

“Go home?” John raised an eyebrow. “Don’t get me wrong, Fee, I love you to death, but I’m _not _about to unleash you on my unsuspecting family!”

“Oh, no no no no.” Philip chuckled, “No, I’m taking _you _home!”

“Home is … where, exactly?”

“London! Come on, you, let’s see about busting out of here and going home!”

“Okay, okay.” John laughed at Philip’s enthusiasm, seeing so much of Fili in him it wasn’t even fair.

“If your family’s not going to mind?”

“Oh, absolutely _not_! And no, I’m not going to warn them ahead of time that I’m bringing _you _home for a week!”

“That’s not very nice, Fee.”

“I’m not interested in being nice. How long have we been apart? How long have we been looking for each other?” Philip insisted as they returned to barracks to pack out their rooms. He did have a point, and John wasn’t arguing. Or complaining.

He parted ways with Philip long enough to pack out and make sure he’d left the room in the same condition he’d moved into it, and then met up with Philip outside the barracks. He was chatting with a few senior officers in fatigues, John recognized both of them from behind as he came up on them from behind.

“Why am I not surprised you’re already sweet-talking my dad, Fíli?” He said out loud, “Have you no shame?”

“Johnny! There you are!” Jacob turned on him, beaming. “Heard you boys might need a ride home?”

“Well, we can always take the train, but I get the feeling that’s not an option.”

“Nope!”

“As long as it’s not an inconvenience for _you _two.” John looked hard at Philip, “I know you have better things to do with your time than cart two miscreants like us back and forth to and from London.”

“Miscreants!”

“Shove it, Fíli.”

“It’s as far from an inconvenience as anything else we do with our time, son!” Sholto said with a dismissive gesture.

“We’ll be more than happy to fly you boys back to London!” Jacob chuckled, “I’ll even let you two sit on the door-sill again.”

“Really?” John and Philip looked at each other, wearing the same smile. Well, _that _was nice!

“Sure! I know I can trust you two, and Simon would rather have John on the door any day.”

“All I do is sit there and kick my feet, I’m not good for anything.” John shrugged.

“Not yet you aren’t.” Sholto grinned. “If I don’t hear that you’ve gone in for your pilot’s training to follow your old man’s footsteps one further, I’ll be absolutely shocked.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, Uncle James.” John sniffed, “I like flying _in _helicopters, but I’m not sure I’d be any good at the stick.”

“Oh, you don’t know that! Just think about it!”

“Let me pass my boards first!” He laughed, “Then maybe I’ll think about it!”

“Come on, lads, let’s get you back to London.” Jacob chuckled, “You've got a place to stay while you’re up there?”

“Yes, sir, I’m taking your son home to meet my family,” Philip said as they followed the seniors to a waiting government vehicle, taking John’s hand in his and holding on carefully. John just smiled at him. This kind of intimacy was dangerous in public, but they were being cautious and made sure they weren’t making it very obvious.

Jacob Watson might have been responsible for getting John’s fellow recruits to the Briefing, but he wasn’t responsible for getting them back to Point A. They were the only passengers on the drive from Westbury to Keevil Airfield, and there was no sign of anyone else from their group when they got back to the Airfield. That was fine with John and Philip, and probably with the rest of his dad’s crew.

Before boarding the chopper, John and Philip changed into flight-gear like the rest of the crew wore in-flight: olive-drab flight suits and heavy boots with vulcanized soles, helmets with integrated headsets, and role-harnesses with tethers to hook into the rails. They were checked out and cleared by Jacob and Sholto, and Simon. The doors were closed as they took off from Keevil, but once they reached their cruising altitude, a middle altitude for the flight from Westbury to London, Simon gave them the signal.

_“Alright, lads! Get ready!” _John looked at Philip and nodded. They got up and with Simon’s help, hooked into the rails and got the door open and properly secured. Then they sat on the door-sill, holding the handles and each other as they leaned out as far as the tethers would let them, feet firm against the runner.

It was as exhilarating and exciting as the flight out to Westbury had been, maybe even more than the flight out. As before, they had a private channel, which was only muted during take-off and landing manoeuvres, and spent the trip laughing and chatting like the old friends they were. When they landed at the London Heliport an hour and a half after leaving Westbury, John and Philip were on a bit of an adrenaline high and in very good spirits. As they unbuckled, unstrapped, and prepared to debark, his dad’s crew-chief looked at the two of them and grinned.

“So, I don’t think you boys ever explained how you know each other!” He looked at John and raised an eyebrow. “I thought I knew all of John’s friends and then you showed up, Mr Duran.”

“Oh. Well.” John frowned. How on earth did you explain such a long-standing and complicated relationship like his camaraderie with the Royal Family of Erebor?

“What’s the secret, then?” 

“You know I’m a Scion, Simon?”

“Yeah, knew it ages ago before your old man even brought it up in conversation.”

“Our Past Life Primes were friends.” Philip filled in as he hopped out first and gave John a hand down. An unnecessary but sweet gesture.

“Ah!” Simon laughed, throwing his head back, “You don’t say! You knew this lout Before?”

“Skip.” John flushed to the roots of his hair as he busied himself with collecting their luggage from the cargo-nets behind the seats. Why was he surprised Simon was so amused by this development?

“Yes, I did, sir,” Philip said politely, taking his bags from John and arranging them.

“Well, that’s a hell of a story! I would tell you lads to keep out of trouble, but just lookin’ at the two of ya, I think that’s a lost cause.”

“Oh leave the boys alone, Skip!” Jacob scolded from the cockpit, “When John’s good and ready, you’ll know everything you need to!”

“Killjoy,” Simon grumbled.

“See ya ‘round, Skip!” John slung an arm around Philip’s shoulders. “My love to Marie and the kids!”

“Take care of yourselves, lads!”

“We will, but no promises!” Philip just gave his da's crew-chief a jaunty wave.

“Stay in touch, John!” Jacob called after them.

“Will do, Da!” He promised, looking over his shoulder.

“Come on, you, before we get cornered into a game of Twenty Questions.” He whispered as he moved away from the stationary chopper and the trio of beaming SOs.

“I like your da, have I said that?” Philip said with a chuckle.

“At least once.” John smiled, “And it’s mutual.”

“Does he know?”

“About us?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes, he knows about Before, about Bilbo and Fíli.”

“And he’s ... _okay _with that?”

“He’s never judged me for my sexuality, which I can’t say is true about everyone in my life.”

“I knew your da was a good one, I didn’t know he was _that _good.” Philip smiled and they parted to a more acceptable distance as they reached Lombard Road.

They walked half a mile before Philip flagged down a passing cab with its light on. He leaned in through the window to give the driver his address as John hopped into the back.

“Direct route, if you please.” He said, climbing in next to John. The driver touched his cap and got them underway.

“So, where you boys in from, then?” The driver asked as they sat at a traffic signal. “Saw your gear, are you pilots?” 

“No, we’re just back from Westbury.” John glanced out the window. It would be pretty hard to miss a couple of young blokes walking along the street in matching flight-suits with the Heliport nearby.

“Westbury?” He could just see the man’s eyebrows go up. “What had you down there?”

“The AOSB facilities are down there.”

“Ah! So you boys are heading for the Army, then?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good for you, and good luck!” The driver looked over his shoulder and smiled at them. John and Philip just looked at each other and shrugged. They could handle the Army, but could the Army handle _them_? That remained to be seen.

The rest of the drive was pretty standard, and they reached their destination almost twenty minutes later. It was a place in Marylebone, about spitting-distance to Regent’s Park, and John looked up at the house as Philip paid the fare.

“Wow. Nice place.” He murmured, shouldering his bags, “A bit pricey, though?”

“What, this place?” Philip came up alongside him, “Nah. The landlord gave us a special discount if you will.”

“For _what_?”

“You’ll understand when you meet him.” Philip chuckled and unlocked the front door of the house, which was adorned with the gold numbers 221B.

There were three labelled doorbells, only two of which were currently marked with names: 221A – Hudson and 221C – Duran. No one lived upstairs in 221B, apparently, but the room _was _for rent, going by the sign above the door. Right next door was a Speedy’s, which saw plenty of foot traffic, and Baker Street Station was three blocks south of them for all major transit lines.

“Talk about location.” John whistled softly as he followed Philip into the house.

“We’re downstairs, C belongs to us,” Philip explained.

“Is anybody home right now?” John asked for his own sake, he didn’t think he was quite up to reuniting with Thorin just right this minute.

“Nah. Uncle Thorin’s in ... the United States, I think? On exercise. He’ll be gone until next month at this rate.”

“And Kíli? Is _he _around?”

“He’s still in school.”

“Sixth Form?”

“Yep.”

“Good for him.” John smiled. “Any idea what he’ll do when he’s out?”

“A few, but we’re waiting for him to make up his mind.” Philip unlocked the door leading to the basement flat.

“That could be a while.” He smirked. “This _is _Kíli we’re talking about.”

“Mm. That’s what I told Uncle Thorin.” Philip said gravely. “Come on, before Mr Hudson catches us.”

“Would that be a _bad _thing?”

“Well, no, it’s just ... ” He trailed off as a door slammed open somewhere else in the house.

“Fíli, if that’s you, you had better show yourself before you disappear again!”

“He can be very, er, formidable.”

“I take it he knows about your PLP?”

“Oh, he does.” Philip grimaced as footsteps came along the hallway behind them.

“Will he recognize _me_, then?” If the landlord was someone who knew the Durins, it was a fifty-fifty chance they remembered _him _too.

“I’d be shocked if he doesn’t.” He muttered. “Brace yourself, Bilbo.”

“Oh, I _thought _it might have been you, Fíli!” The man who appeared at the top of the stairs leading down to 221C was all at once intimidating and entirely unremarkable. But in all fairness, he probably preferred it that way.

“Hello, Mr Hudson.”

“Oh, _no _you don’t, young man! Not after all these years!” Oh, that dirty look. John had the uncomfortable feeling he’d seen that very expression on someone else’s face. A long, _long _time ago.

“I don’t suppose saying I’m sorry would make it any better?”

“Not unless you’ve got a good excuse for showing up like this! You’ve been gone a whole week, you scoundrel!” Mr Hudson had his arms folded across his chest and stood at the top of the stairs, cutting a rather intimidating figure. Whoever Mr Hudson had Been, John knew it was someone very important, very powerful. He stood nearly six-foot in height, intelligent blue eyes flashed in an ageless, wise face framed by greying hair that was far more salt-and-pepper than its original shade. Today he was dressed in a black brocade waistcoat, white button-down, dark trousers, and sensible shoes. It seemed an appropriate wardrobe-choice for someone of Mr Hudson's social-class and bearing.

“I was down in Westbury over the weekend, Mr H,” Philip said, glancing over his shoulder at John, who stood three steps down from the top and was blocked from view thus. “I could have sworn I told you about that.”

“Oh, that’s right! You had your AOSB Briefing this weekend, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did, Mr Hudson.”

“Well, fine, but that _doesn’t _explain why you were gone all week.” The landlord said sternly. John was _very _familiar with that particular tone of voice with his father and his godfather. 

“I spent some time in Grantham before I went down to Westbury.”

“What on _earth _were you doing up there?”

“Well, I ran into some friends of yours, and one of mine.”

“Oh, did you? And who, I wonder, might that have been?” Mr Hudson was not entirely content with the excuse Philip had for his absence, but he was quite amused with it.

“I met the Sons of Denethor, they’re the ones who gave me a lift from Grantham to Westbury. And back to London.” Philip grinned, “Asked me to pass along their regards, seeing as I’d see you again before they did.”

“Oh, you saw the boys! Oh, delightful!” Mr Hudson chuckled, obviously pleased to hear about that encounter. “And are they in town for long?”

“I’d say a week, or longer. I’m sure they’d be thrilled to hear from you.” Philip turned to face his landlord properly, his smile mischievous and charming. “You _might _be able to talk them into coming by for tea, I can’t see either of them turning you down.”

“Oh, I’d like to see either Faramir or that brother of his decline an invitation from a Wizard!”

“Even _they’re _not that foolish, I don’t think they would.” Philip offered tamely, “At least not at the risk of very real harm to their persons.”

“Who are we talking about?” John inquired. It wasn’t that he _didn’t _know, he just hadn’t ever heard anyone discuss his father in this precise context.

“Your Da, sweetheart.” Philip said over his shoulder, “You know, the one who let us get away with sitting on the door-sill of his heli on the way down from Grantham and again this morning from Westbury.”

“Oh, you did _not_, Fíli!” Mr Hudson had caught that bit of conversation and was not at all amused by the idea of Philip getting into any kind of mischief while his back had been turned. Thorin’s nephews had been fairly good at doing just that, well into adulthood, and up to the day of their deaths. John wasn’t exactly sure why anyone even a little familiar with the Durin's would be so surprised to hear that a Scion was up to no good.

“It was perfectly safe, I promise!” Philip said quickly, “Boromir’s crew-chief is a good fellow, not sure if he’s anyone in particular, but he sure knows his business!”

“You say “us” as if there was another unfortunate you dragged into your mischief.” Mr Hudson had that look on his face again, “What kind of trouble are you up to this time, Fíli?”

“Well, I said I ran into some friends of yours, and one of mine.” Philip cleared his throat.

“Yes, you did. But you haven’t said _who _it was.”

“Really, he’s friend to both of us, you better than me.” He looked over his shoulder at John. At that moment, Mr Hudson caught sight of John and his eyes got very wide.

“Why, bless me! Bilbo Baggins, I nearly didn’t recognize you!”

“Have we met before, Mr Hudson?” He didn’t want to be rude, but Bilbo had known at _least _three Wizards. Some better than others, one in particular best of all. And John wasn’t sure he’d encountered any of them in this lifetime. He would have remembered something like that, Wizards left a bit of a lasting impression if and when you chanced to encounter one of them in person.

“Hmph.” Blue eyes narrowed. “You’ve _changed_, and not entirely for the better, Bilbo Baggins.”

“I’m sorry, do I _know _you?” It was very unwise to be rude to a Wizard, but John was at a complete loss. Philip stood by and watched, looking a bit embarrassed that John might be about to get himself into quite a lot of trouble with their landlord.

“Well, you know my _name_, although you don’t seem to remember I belong to it.” Mr Hudson said gravely, in a voice that didn’t sound entirely like his own, “I’m Gandalf!”

That name had memories attached to it, some happier than others. John recalled a much older face, an old man dressed in grey who had on more than one occasion led daring young Hobbits on many misadventures they didn’t always return home from.

“Oh! Gandalf! Gandalf the Grey!” He didn’t mean to laugh, it just kind of burst out of him. “Well, I had no idea you were still in business!”

“And where else _should _I be, young man?”

“I’m ... not sure, actually.” He squinted, “I suppose you go where you like as you like and do as you please, answering to no one.”

“Well, Bilbo Baggins?” Mr Hudson smiled at him. “Any more adventures for you, then?”

“Ever since I was six, Gandalf.” He promised solemnly. “From days to weeks to months at a time.”

“Hm. Age hasn’t taken your sense of adventure yet, I see. That’s a blessing.”

“I was gone a whole year on this last one, I can tell you my sister was _not _very happy to see me when I got home.”

“Harriet Watson has never understood your true nature, and I’m not certain she ever believed in Past Lives herself.”

“Does s_he _have a Past Life?”

“Not one I know anything about.” A nose-twitch and a grimace. “But then, that’s not _my_ job.” John and Philip snickered.

“Oh yes, it is!” They said in unison.

“If you’re not involved with Project Comeback, I’ll eat my tie!” John said brashly, folding his arms as he looked up at the man who had the good fortune to be a Scion of Gandalf the Grey.

“I have better uses for your tie, Bilbo,” Philip whispered, making him blush.

“Oh, be off with you both!” Mr Hudson laughed and waved them off, “I’ll get the whole story out of you two later!”

“Yes, Gandalf!”

“I’m so glad to see you again, Bilbo! Are you taking up with Fíli, then?”

“If you don’t mind, Gandalf?” He didn’t want to sound too desperate, but if the chance was on offer. “I don’t really have anywhere else to stay in London.”

“I’ll get you a key, then!” Mr Hudson beamed and turned, heading off back to 221A, “You boys behave yourselves!”

“We will!” They called, waiting until the door of 221A had closed.

Once they were certain their landlord wasn’t eavesdropping, though they both knew it would be just like him _to _eavesdrop, John and Philip raced each other down the stairs to the basement flat. There was an open archway at the bottom of the stairs and three feet beyond that lay the door of 221C. Philip stopped their headlong charge at this door, which like most interior doors had a lock on it, and looked at John with a gleam in his eyes. He was excited.

“Ready?”

“After you!” John panted, slightly out of breath.

“Welcome, Bilbo Baggins, to the humble abode of Thorin Oakenshield,” Philip said with a beaming flourish as he pushed open the door to 221C, letting John go in first. They dumped their bags in Philip’s room and he got a quick tour of the flat. John thought it both fitting and very ironic that the Durin's lived in the basement of 221 Baker Street. Just like dwarves to live underground; and these Dwarves, in particular, were living in a Wizard's basement. But it wasn’t like any basement flat John had ever seen. It was very homey and surprisingly spacious and well-lit. There were three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen, and an open-plan dining/reception, the “den” as Philip called it. The flooring was smooth stone, granite perhaps, with soft colourful rugs for a buffer against bare feet; the walls were bare brick or smooth stone, and the ceiling was panelled wood. He was reminded of the halls of Erebor, the way the Dwarves had described it to him so many times, the splendour of its massive subterranean halls and the untold riches that had been lost for so long.

After getting a tour of the flat, they unpacked from the weekend, being very careful to hang up their formalwear and flight suits properly in the small but adequate closet. There was a small pile of clothes to be dry-cleaned, but Philip took care of that. While he was upstairs, John took a shower to get the grime of travel off and thought about the weekend now behind them. It was good to be alone with Philip, even if they did nothing more than play catch-up. Which John knew better than to expect one of his oldest friends to be happy with merely chatting and catching up on things missed between them. They’d spent most of the weekend doing just that, and no one could ever accuse Fíli of being terribly patient or restrained if he didn’t have to be.

Because he knew better, John was absolutely not surprised when he came back to Philip’s room and found him laying on the double bed stark naked and hair damp from taking his _own _shower. Out of precaution, not that Mr Hudson was likely to come down and interrupt them, John locked the pocket-style sliding door and pulled the heavy blackout curtain.

“Did you lock the door?” Philip inquired in a calm, almost blasé tone as he entered the room.

“This isn’t the first sneak-around I’ve done, Fee, let alone the first-sneak around with _you_.” He said brusquely, “So you can just knock it off with that attitude.”

“Is that any way to speak to the Crown Prince of Erebor?” Philip sat up and looked at him, eyes sharp and sparkling, his smile dangerous.

“Crown Prince of Erebor, my arse.” John snorted and used his towel to rub his hair dry before tossing it aside. “That’s not gonna work on _me_, Your Highness. It didn’t work back then, and it sure as fuck won’t work now!”

“Ooh, the way you say “Your Highness”!” He would be damned if Philip didn’t giggle. “Is that loathing or longing I hear in your voice, Burglar?”

“Don’t you _dare_!” John glared at Philip. “Don’t you fucking _dare_!”

“Don’t I dare what? Tease you? Watch you get all hot and bothered?”

“I thought that was the point?”

“Well, it was rather the point of this.” Philip’s smirk smoothed into something just slightly less sinister, “But you seem to be taking an age.”

“I am _not_.” John objected, not that it did any good.

“Then can we get to it before Gandalf comes down to see what we’re about?”

“He’s a bleeding Wizard, Fee.” He stabbed a finger at the ceiling. “He’s not stupid, or senile.”

“I never said he was! Now come _here_, you stubborn creature!”

“Make me!”John said bluntly, arms folded across his chest and feet spread shoulder-width apart.

It was never wise to challenge a Dwarf, let alone a Son of Durin, but Bilbo had never been afraid to do just that. Depending on the circumstance, he usually got what he wanted in the end and both parties were satisfied by the outcome. And John was _not _disappointed this time.

He was barely paying enough attention to see Philip’s eyes harden as his smile turned absolutely feral. Despite being prepared for all comers, the frontal assault took him completely by surprise. By luck alone, they landed on Philip’s bed in a flailing, tangled heap of limbs and flesh.

The only sound audible the slap of skin on skin and the duller sound of a heavier impact as an elbow or a knee hit where it shouldn’t have, John’s startled yelp, and the grunt as they landed together on the mattress. The bed itself creaked a bit.

“Ouch!” John groaned. “Sorry about that!”

“I’m not!” Philip chuckled, completely out of breath. “How’s your jaw?”

“Sore? But my teeth hurt more. I must have bitten my tongue or something, I kind of taste blood.”

“Well, you left me a nice little mark on my shoulder, so let’s hope I don’t end up dead anytime in the near future!”

Fuck, are you serious?!” John found the bite-mark and knew exactly why he could taste blood on his tongue.

“It was an _accident_, Bilbo. It doesn’t hurt that much.” He smiled down at John, who felt a little bad for being so careless he hurt his dear friend.

“Still, I’m sorry I hurt you like that.”

“A badge of honour, that is. Branded by the Burglar of Erebor!” Philip didn’t seem bothered by it at all, letting John inspect the small but noticeable half-crescent abrasion.

The skin was reddened and already beginning to bruise, and there were little beads of blood where the skin had broken, and indentations that perfectly matched John’s upper teeth. He traced out the right and left maxillary canines and the four incisors, marvelling that the damage was so ... minimal. This time had been a complete accident, but he couldn’t promise it would be if it happened again.

Not that he or Philip were terribly _violent_ during sex, of course. But in their equal defence, John wasn’t sure how long it had been for Philip. For himself, it had been nearly a year. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy sex, of course. John just preferred taking partners of his own gender, and that was _highly _frowned upon by society. Someday it wouldn’t be, but until that day came, he just had to be extremely careful with his sexual dalliances and make sure he looked after himself first. 

“Now, if you’re done feeling sorry for yourself, can we please get to fucking each other before my brother comes home and barges in on us?” Philip sounded very put-upon and John rolled his eyes, leaning up to press his lips to the marks. Clearly, Philip hadn’t been expecting him to do that, and he relished in the way the Royal Scion all but collapsed on top of him, moaning softly. John smiled and did it again, this time on a bit of unhurt skin, and got the exact same reaction.

“If you … don’t _stop _doing that, Burglar,” Philip panted, breath hot against John’s skin, his voice a hoarse growl, “I may … be forced to take extreme … measures.”

“Tsk. You should know that threatening me gets you nothing, Prince.” He murmured, smiling up at his partner.

“But asking nicely does?”

“Well _are_ you?”

“Am I what?”

“Asking.”

“Nicely?” 

“Mm.”

“What does asking nicely get me?” Oh, of course Philip wasn’t playing by anyone’s rules. John chuckled and startled the Royal Scion by grabbing him by the arms and reversing their positions.

“Playing rough now, are you, Burglar?”

“Well, for starters, you never asked nicely, so I’m not doing this by your rules. Say please and I won’t tease you anymore.”

“And if I _don’t_?”

“Then I’m not the one we’ll be using my tie on, Your Highness,” John said with just a hint of malice in his voice. “And if you don’t keep it down, I’ll make sure the neighbours for three houses in either direction from us hear you.”

“You wouldn’t _dare_.”

“Just you try and _stop _me.” He murmured, leaning down to kiss the stubborn, panting Dwarf Prince beneath him.

“Can we at least take turns?” Philip asked in a hoarse voice as soon as there was a breath between them. “Please?”

“After you.”

“Drawer. Your ... left.”

“Didn’t say anything?” John reached over and pulled open the drawer of Philip’s bedside table, fumbling inside blindly for what he knew and hoped he would find. A hand brushed against his and a minute later, something bounced off his chest.

“Think that’s what you’re looking for.”

“One part of it, anyway!” He grinned and sat back on his knees, picking up the string of foil packet with one hand, waving the tube of lubricant at him with the other. “Can’t forget about this, can we?”

“Surprised you don’t carry these in your back pocket.”

“Who says I don’t?”

“You certainly did this weekend.” He got that crooked grin. “Where did that kit go?”

“Nowhere I’m bothering to go hunt it down. Not when you have the same damn thing right here.” He traced small designs against the smooth, tanned skin beneath his hands.

Philip was in a very touchy mood, and John was okay with that. It was touch for touching returned and contact maintained when John got to work preparing the both of them for what they were going to engage in next. John played a bit dirty with Philip after he rolled on the condom using his teeth, which by itself got him a curse muttered in Khuzdul.

“Tsk. Language, Highness.” He grinned and held the younger blond still by the hips as he sealed his lips around the half-erect cock that rested against his tongue, hollowing his cheeks at the same time.

A steady stream of hoarse Khuzdul proved that this was going well. He had forgotten, in the centuries and lifetimes that stood between them, that Fíli spoke Khuzdul during sexual intercourse. So did Thorin, and Kíli. Yes, Bilbo had bedded each of the Sons of Durin, no he had never regretted that.

John pulled away after a bit and looked up to check on Philip.

“You alright, love?” He asked softly. Philip’s face was flushed and damp with sweat, eyes shut tight, teeth clenched against anymore outbursts.

“Why are you so fucking _good _at that!” Philip gasped. John kissed the soft skin of Philip’s thigh and smiled.

“Hold onto something.” He said, “I’m not done with you yet.”

“Fuck me.” Philip moaned, covering his eyes with an arm.

“Getting to that, love.” John winked and got back to business. But when he had Philip right at the hairy edge of climax, he pulled back again.

“W-wh-not fair!” Philip whined. “You can’t just _do _that!”

“I don’t plan to, love.” John pulled himself up so they were face-to-face and kissed his desperate friend on the cheek. “Can you hold off for another few minutes for me?”

“My turn?”

“Your turn.” He promised, giving Philip a proper kiss when asked for one.

Philip, of course, used that moment to switch their positions like he had earlier and he ended up beneath the stocky Son of Durin, who waved the lube at him with a grin. John shook his head as his partner kissed his way down John’s body. He moaned as the attention he had given Philip was returned in kind and equal measure, trying to remember the last time he’d been able to do _this _with someone else.

Three minutes later, Philip declared him ready and gave him a condom. 

“Are you ready?” Philip whispered, balanced over him on hands and knees.

“When you are.” John promised. He was _more _than ready.

“Then hold onto something.” There was that sly smile and Philip slid his hands under John’s knees, tugging him further down on the narrow bed. John inhaled sharply when he felt the nudge of Philip’s penis against the loosened ring of muscle.

“And whatever you do, don’t hold your breath and don’t tense up.”

“S-sorry.” He let out the breath he’d been holding and closed his eyes for a minute, gentling his iron grip on Philip’s biceps. Little by little, he felt his muscles relax. But he tensed up again when he felt the pressure return and increase.

“I’ve gotcha.” Philip murmured, kissing him on the cheek. “You’re marvellous, just relax. We have all the time in the world.” John nodded mutely as clenching muscles gave way and just the head was pushed in. The head and maybe another inch of Philip’s not-inconsiderable length. John would be damned if he whimpered. One eyebrow went up and the motion was repeated, a careful pull-out and push. Then that smile, the one he loved so much and had missed so desperately.

“Feels good?”

“Christ.”

“More where that came from, my dear.” Philip murmured, moving carefully but with purpose.

It took a bit of experimenting to find the best angle and such, there was no such thing as doing it perfectly right the first time (or the second, or the third), but Philip knew what he was doing, he knew his own body and his partner’s body very well. Well, _had _known his partner’s body very well. John was a Scion of Bilbo Baggins, _not _Bilbo Baggins himself. Though, if you asked a few people, he looked and acted far too much like his Prime for anyone’s good.

“Back to me, Burglar.” Philip’s voice in his ear dragged him back to the moment and he blinked up at the Royal Scion. And burst out laughing.

“Christ, you’ll be the death of me.”Philip growled as the reflex of laughter set off a chain reaction between the two of them.

“S-sorry!” John gasped once he could get a decent breath, “Sorry!”

“Oh, I’ll show you proper sorry!” Multihued eyes flashed dangerously and Philip moved faster, harder, but still careful not to hurt him.

When climax came, it came hard and seemingly all at once. John knew it wasn’t actually possible to go blind from sexual intercourse, but his field of vision definitely whited out and he heard a roar in his ears. Blood rushing through his veins, down to his groin, spurring the intensity of his climax. He was aware of Philip carefully pulling out, removing the spent condoms, disappearing only to return within moments. Christ, had it really been _that _long since he’d been on the receiving end of things that he nearly passed out?

He heard soft, low singing, a sonorous hum that he felt in his bones, a song he hadn’t heard in ages. This was what brought him back to full awareness.

“Back with me yet, Burglar?”

“Jesus Christ.” He got his eyes open and found Philip lying beside him, watching him come back online. “Did I actually pass out?”

“Nope.”

“Okay.” He heaved an unsteady sigh and leaned his head back against the pillow and Philip’s arm.

“I got you good and proper, didn’t I?” Philip grinned at him.

“Well, we did have an agreement to fuck each other senseless, didn’t we?” John wrinkled his nose. Philip snorted, which started off a fit of laughter.

“You said it, not me!” Philip gasped between bouts, “Oh, fuck!”

“Did that already!” John giggled.

“Worn out?”

“Ugh.” John groaned as he rolled over to bury his face in Philip’s shoulder. “I’m going to be so sore in some very unmentionable places no thanks to you.”

“Oh, like you mind _that _much,” Philip said slyly, letting him get comfortable.

“Fíli?”

“Yeah?”

Please shut up.” He murmured, not meaning any of it. It got quiet between them as they settled down after that bit of excitement.

John was aware of Philip humming as he dozed off and smiled. He could think of far worse things to be doing with his time, this was just fine. And since there was no telling how the future would turn out, how much time they would actually get to spend together, every opportunity was to be taken and spent wisely. Whatever quiet they had was not to be squandered, it may not last very long. Any interruption could come up without warning, from boisterous younger brothers who didn’t understand the courtesy of knocking first or legitimate business. Right now, he was content to sleep for a while. They didn’t have to be doing anything in particular for him to enjoy spending time with Fíli, and it had always been like that. He kind of hoped it always would be, moments of peace and quiet were going to be rather rare in the future.

* * *

* * *


	12. Wanderlust: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gives in to his inner Took and goes off on one last grand adventure before committing fully to his future. And, in a departure from standard, he doesn't go alone. A couple of clever, devoted Dwarves aren't about to let their favourite Burglar go off on an adventure by himself. Not if they have anything to say about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of 2. Sorry to do this again.

* * *

* * *

John and Philip reported back to Westbury the next Sunday for their Main Board along with the rest of their group from the Briefing, and once again they were flown down in Jacob Watson's helicopter. They spent the flight sitting on the door-sill together with a private radio channel to themselves. The Main Board was exactly what John had thought it might be, and he teamed up with Philip for the duration. It was just like the Briefing, but different at the same time. It was just the right amount of challenging for John, and promising for the future. At the end of four days, he returned to London with Philip and waited for Philip’s orders to come through for reporting to Sandhurst.

John’s next AOSB came up before Philip got his orders, but he knew Philip wouldn’t be sent up to Sandhurst before he got back from Westbury. They were slated to enter the Academy with the September intake, which was about a month away, so John knew his friend wouldn’t be going anywhere to have fun without him. Philip and his brother Killian, younger by five years and a spitting image of Kíli, saw him off for that venture and spent the week in Westbury with him, staying in the same hotel they had stayed in the night before their first Briefing. It was a sweet gesture, and he hadn’t expected or asked them to come along. Not that he minded having them nearby like that.

After completing the AOSB with flying colours, John settled in to enjoy what little time was left to him as a civilian. He wouldn’t have the luxury of doing as he pleased when he pleased for quite a while once he finished with his training. In a fit of defiance and a bit of a last hurrah, John packed up his gear and set off on one last “adventure”. No one who knew him and knew his habits and routines was at all surprised by this. His father just warned him to be safe and be smart. But this time was different from others, he had company this time.

When they found out about his plans to go on a trip, the brothers showed up at his door five minutes before he left bearing similar kits to his own and mischief in their eyes.

“What can I do for you, my Dwarves?” he said, grinning at the mischievous pair on his doorstep.

“Fíli, and Kíli, at your service.” Right down to the badly-contained matching smiles and in-unison bow.

“At yours and your family’s!” John nearly burst out laughing, and he threw the door wide to let them in. “What on _earth _are you two doing here?”

“Heard our Burglar thought he might go adventuring without us!” Killian said as the pair stepped into the house, stacking their gear near the door where John had left his own. “Also, I don’t think we’ve ever seen your house!”

“Well, not _this _house at any rate. And _you _haven’t seen it, but Fíli certainly has!” He chuckled and adjusted his grip on Bodie, who studied their visitors with wide, curious, slightly wary eyes. 

“Ah, there’s my little princess!” Philip gave Bodie a big smile and held out his arms to her, “Hello, my beautiful little warrior! Can I hold you?” Bodie, recognizing Philip by the sound of his voice if not by his appearance, brightened up a bit and started fussing, reaching for him from the safety of John’s arms.

“Oh, fine. Hang on, you little heathen.” John rolled his eyes and handed his little sister to Philip, “You can spend some time with Fíli, I guess.”

“Oh, she looks just like you, Bilbo!” Killian wondered as Philip busied himself playing with Bodie.

“This is my sister Boudicca Watson.” John explained, “She’s a little shy of new people, but if she knows who you are, it’s all bets off.”

“Has Gandalf met her?”

“Oh, she _adores _him!” John closed the door behind them and ushered them into the house proper. “He likes to do little magic tricks for her.”

“Wizard,” Philip said as if that was something any of them had forgotten about Martin Hudson.

“John, who’s at the door?” Hannah called from the kitchen, having heard their voices and the ring of the bell.

“Just the Durins, Mum!” He replied.

“Oh!” She appeared in the doorway as they reached the kitchen, “Fíli! What on earth brings you to see us?”

“Hi, Mum.” Philip gave Hannah a one-armed hug. “We came to see your son. Who seems to think he’s allowed to go adventuring by himself.”

“Well, if you insist on keeping that scoundrel company, you have my blessing!” Hannah gave John a certain, affectionate look and kissed Philip on the cheek. “It’s so good to see you, especially since you boys will be going off soon and it’ll be who knows how long before we get to see you again!”

“Well, Bilbo and I are off soon, but Kíli’s staying behind.” Philip looked at his brother, “He’s got schooling to finish up first.”

“It’s lovely to meet you at last, Kíli, I’ve heard quite a bit about you!” Hannah gave Killian the same treatment she gave John and Philip.

“It’s an honour to meet you, too, Mrs Watson.”

“Oh, no you don’t!” Hannah rolled her eyes, “None of that nonsense. Call me Mum, please! We’re all but family.”

“Oh, sure!” Killian beamed, he didn’t mind a bit of informality.

“Well, I don’t know what you boys had planned, but you are not leaving this house until you’ve eaten breakfast!” Hannah said sternly, taking Bodie from Philip. This caused a major fuss as Bodie started to whine and yelp.

“Oh, very well, you little monster!” Hannah rolled her eyes and looked at Philip, who dutifully held his arms out, “I think you’d better take her back, Fíli, or she’ll never quiet down.”

“Well, I sure don’t mind!” Philip just beamed and gave Bodie a little toss, making her squeal and giggle. “There! That’s the sound I want to hear! Happy girl, my queen?”

“Softie,” John muttered as they trooped into the kitchen where Hannah had breakfast ready for them.

Thorin would probably have something to say about his nephews assuming themselves familiar enough with John’s family to be so unceremonious, but Hannah had a certain fondness for John’s PLP friends. She hadn’t met all of them, for various reasons, but those she had met and knew intimately were considered family.

“Wash up and sit down, boys!” She declared, directing them to the sink first and then to the table. Philip deposited Bodie in her high-chair first, tickling her on the cheek as he walked away. She yelled again and smack her hands on the tray in objection.

“Oh, no you don’t! I am within line-of-sight, you silly little thing.” Philip just looked over his shoulder at her. “I may not be within reach, but you can certainly see me. No more of that nonsense.”

“Somebody has a crush.” Killian murmured. John hid a chuckle in a cup of coffee.

“That’s enough, you two.” Hannah scolded as they all took a seat at the table, setting plates of toast, fried eggs with salt and paprika, and roasted tomatoes.

“Now, eat up.”

“Yes, Mum.”

John hadn’t been expecting the brothers, but Hannah was used to Philip dropping by unannounced and had started cooking for more than their immediate family whenever John was home for more than forty-eight hours. This came in handy for more than just Philip’s impromptu visits, but also when Harry managed to visit home. John wasn’t sure if his elder sister had ever met Philip, they never seemed to be home at the same time or home long enough to cross paths. Honestly, that was fine with him, he didn’t want to inflict his sister’s spite and wrath upon some of his dearest friends.

Today, however, did not seem to be his lucky day, as they had barely begun to eat when the front door slammed open.

“Oh, you have to be kidding me.” John sighed and glanced at the brothers, who currently flanked him to left and right, and then turned to Bodie. The youngest of their number began to whine, gearing up for a full-on cry, but Philip reacted swiftly and lifted her out of her seat and into his arms.

“It’s okay, little queen. We’ll protect you.” He murmured, cradling her close as he continued to eat.

“So, what now?” Harry appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, halfway to the bottom of the bottle, maybe more than that, her expression hostile. “Are you running off for good, then, little brother? You know that’s considered desertion, right?”

“Bilbo.” Killian breathed. John reached over and touched him on the arm.

“Don’t, Kee. She’s not worth the effort.” He whispered, turning to his sister. “Harry, it’s not desertion if I’m coming back. Da and Uncle James both know about this, and I _have _to come back anyway.”

“Are you, though?”

“Since I’m not travelling alone this time, I don’t have a choice!”

“Harriet, John, not now.” Hannah cautioned. “Harriet, sit down and behave yourself, eat something.”

“Wait, who’s that?” Harry had caught sight of the brothers and pointed an accusatory finger at them, “You don’t have any friends!”

“Shut up, Harry.” John faced his sister head-on. “I have more friends than _you _do. Who I spend my time with or how I spend my time is absolutely none of your fucking business.”

“That wasn’t my question! Who are they!”

“Philip and Killian Duran, my sister Harriet Watson.” John made the introductions. “Philip and I are old pen-friends, Harry, but we lost contact for a while and just recently found each other again.”

“I never saw you get any letters. You’re lying.”

“Did it ever occur to you that this isn’t the only place someone could send me mail?” He raised an eyebrow. “Now, sit down, please. You’re making a scene and scaring Bodie.”

“I am not!”

“Harriet Watson, you will sit down and behave yourself while we have guests.” The sound of Jacob’s voice broke the tension, and John looked up to see his father standing behind Harry, Sholto at his side as always.

“But, Da!”

“Do not disobey me.” Jacob’s voice brooked no argument and John stifled a grin as his sister sat down, radiating fury and defiance.

“You two, wash up and sit down. Eat.” Hannah collected and served two more plates for Jacob and Sholto. “Then off with you boys, and stay out of trouble for me.”

“Yes, Mum.” John and the brothers obediently bent to their plates and ate in silence.

“Yes, dear.” Jacob and Sholto did as they were told, kissing Hannah on the cheek in penance. After the arrival of Jacob and Sholto, breakfast was quiet and remarkably pleasant, discounting the sullen mood of Harry, who sat and skulked in her seat at the end of the table. She hated it when she was checked like that, but John wasn’t nearly sorry enough to regret his own glee at watching it happen.

***

After breakfast, they all split up and went their separate ways. John and the boys did the wash-up, Hannah went to give Bodie a bath and clean nappy, and Jacob and Sholto sat out on the back patio with coffee and shared a cigarette. Well, John and Killian did the wash-up. Philip occupied himself otherwise by playing with Bodie, who just loved the attention. And Harry, of course, stormed out of the kitchen and up to her room. There was the requisite slamming of doors and breaking of at least one object in the process. John dutifully got a broom and dustpan and cleaned up the mess.

“Is that … normal?” Killian asked in a low whisper, as though afraid Harry would somehow overhear him even from the kitchen.

“She’s always been that way, long as we’ve been alive,” John said. “It’s not you, I promise.”

“Proper goblin, she is,” Killian muttered with a dirty look to the ceiling as they finished up in the kitchen. John snickered and gave the youngest Durin a playful shove. He cleaned off the dustpan and did the same with the broom so next time it was used there would be no debris stuck in the bristles. Then it was time to do a final gear-check and get on the road.

Philip asked John a rather unusual question as they were reorganizing and re-packing as needed, making use of the living room to spread out.

“Do you carry your passport when you travel by yourself, Bilbo?”

“Uh, yeah. I’ve had to replace it several times over the years because I travel so often.” He found the item in question and held it up. “Right here, actually. Why?”

“Oh, good. Then this is for you.” Philip held out a travel-folio. Inside were a boarding-pass and travel itinerary.

“New Zealand?” John blinked in shock as he read the final destination, “You’re joking.”

“Nope. It was Gandalf’s idea, actually. He knew you’d do something grand for your last real adventure.”

“So much for a short trip!” He read the itinerary and wondered why it didn’t surprise him that the nosy old wizard had interfered once again.

“How’s it going in here, lads?” Jacob popped his head in, grinning.

“Uh, to New Zeland, apparently.” John put his travel documents together in the front pocket of his backpack.

“Oh?” That got them a raised eyebrow and a broadening of that initial grin into a smile.

“I think we can blame a certain wizard of our mutual acquaintance for this.” He said with a sniff. “Though how on earth we’re getting from here to London in time to catch our flight from Heathrow, I do not know.”

“Oh yes you do!” His father just gave him that smile and John sighed.

“Da, you can’t keep _doing _this. I know you have better things to be doing with your time than carting your roving, vagrant son around the country with whatever friends he happens to be with at the moment.”

“Roving you may be, but you are never a vagrant.” Jacob narrowed his eyes. “Let’s get a move on, boys, we’ve got a flight to catch! And no complaining.”

“Oh boy.” John knew when to pick his fights, this was definitely _not _one of them. Oh well, at least he’d tried. The brothers looked at each other and snickered as they finished packing and carried their gear out to the car.

“It’s not _that _funny.” He glared at Philip, who just beamed and kissed him on the cheek.

“I’m sorry, but your face is priceless.”

“Well, at least it’s just the two of you and not thirteen like it was the last time.” He muttered.

Hannah came out with Bodie to say goodbye as they finished loading the car.

“You be safe, boys, you hear me?”

“Yes, Mum.”

“You’ll know first after Gandalf if anything comes up, I promise,” Philip said solemnly, taking Hannah’s hand in his. “You would be one of many people after my head if anything happened to your son.”

“I imagine I might be.” Hannah smiled at Philip, “Be safe, Fíli.”

“I will. We all will.” The Royal Scion promised. She wasn’t asking them to be safe just for this backpacking venture in New Zealand, it was a plea to be safe while they were with the Army.

“Don’t worry, Mum. We’ll come back.” John put in, giving Hannah a hug. “I’m afraid Bodie’s going to be all grown up and running laps around the back garden by the time we get a chance to come home properly.”

“Can you say bye-bye to your big brother, Bodie?” Hannah loosened her hold on Bodie, who switched arms right away.

“Bye-bye, Princess.” John murmured, kissing his baby sister on the forehead. “I’m going to miss you, little one. Be a good girl for us.”

“Bah!” She said imperiously, waving one hand at him.

“Okay, I will.” He chuckled and handed her to Philip, “Your turn, Fee.” Philip took Bodie and tossed her, swinging her around in his arms to make her laugh one last time.

“Oh, I am going to _miss _you, my little warrior!” He stroked her chin. “You’ll be all grown up the next time we see each other! But I’ll come back, I promise.” Bodie’s eyes got wide and wet and she whined, realizing they were really actually leaving. But she did let them leave without raising too much of a fuss.

As they drove away, heading for Barkston Heath, John looked back and saw Bodie and Hannah standing on the drive and waving until they were out of sight.

“It’s a little heartbreaking, actually, she’ll be older by the time we can see her again.” He mused.

“Oh, don’t you worry, Hannah will keep you well in with photos and phone-calls.” Jacob said with a glance in the rearview mirror, “Just you make sure you do the same, and write home when you’re able.”

“We will.”

“Kee, I don’t think Mum and Dad would mind you visiting when you have the time for it,” John said, turning to Killian, who just nodded. “You’re all but family, so the Grantham house is as much your home as Baker Street is mine.”

“That’s alright with me.” Killian smiled, “I like your family. And this time, I actually get to _meet _your family.”

“Yeah, well.” John shook his head. “As long as we’re not bombarded with eleven unexpected extras on this trip of ours, I have no complaints.”

“Unlikely.” Philip reached over and patted him on the leg. “Very few of us are aware of you, and fewer still remember.”

“That happens. I’m not terribly surprised.” He sighed. “Well, it could be worse. At least we don’t have to worry about goblins, orcs, and wargs this time.”

“Yeh. _This _time.” Philip snickered, rolling his eyes, “For once.” John and Killian just laughed. This time, for once, indeed.

The drive from Grantham to Barkston Heath was uneventful, but the flight from Barkston Heath to the helipad at Heathrow was about as exciting and enjoyable as every other flight John had taken with his dad’s crew and Philip along for the ride. It was Killian’s first flight, however, and he was not aware of their routine. He reacted a bit poorly when Simon helped John slide the door open as Philip hooked them into the rails by the door once they had reached altitude.

_“What are you doing!” _He yelled over the headsets,_ “You can’t do that, are you mad?!”_

_“Oh, pipe down, Kee.” _John said calmly as he leaned out a bit to get a feel for things, _“I’m not about to jump out of a helicopter mid-flight.”_

_“But what are you doing!”_

_“Exactly what it looks like.” _He gave the younger Durin a cheeky grin and sat down, sliding into position on the door-sill. _“Da’s been a pilot longer than I’ve been alive, I think, and I’ve been flying since I was thirteen.”_

_“Really?” _Killian’s alarm had given way to awe.

_“Mhm.” _He nodded and leaned out a bit. _“I’ve been doing this since you were in Primary if that’s any reassurance.”_

_“Not really,” _Killian grumbled. _“Gandalf would have our heads if he had any idea.”_

_“Oh, he knows,” _Philip reassured his little brother that their landlord was well familiar with this particular dangerous pastime for theirs. No he didn’t like it, but he hadn’t tried to stop them from doing it once Jacob and Sholto had reassured him that every precaution was taken and they only did it when Mitchell Simon said they were allowed to.

After a quiet, routine flight to Heathrow, John and the Durins collected their bags and set off on the first leg of what promised to be one of the most interesting adventures John had been on yet. They said goodbye to Jacob and Sholto at the terminal, promised to stay in touch, and the last John saw of his father was the two of them waving from the atrium.

It was early enough there wasn’t much of a wait and after checking through their expedition packs, keeping their wallets on them along with their ticket-folios, they set off to find their gate-area. Joining a crowd of early-morning travellers and commuters, they grabbed a small breakfast from one of the concourse restaurants and discussed their plans for New Zealand. Keeping an eye on the screens showing the flight-numbers, they made their way to the proper gate at the appointed time and waited to board their flight to British Columbia for a layover in Vancouver and then on to Auckland. This was definitely going to be an interesting trip. For John, it kind of felt like going home after being away for a long time.

* * *

* * *


	13. Wanderlust: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gives in to his inner Took and goes off on one last grand adventure before committing fully to his future. And, in a departure from standard, he doesn't go alone. A couple of clever, devoted Dwarves aren't about to let their favourite Burglar go off on an adventure by himself. Not if they have anything to say about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of 2.  
**  
I did some editing and changed the name of Philip and Killian's mother. Her name is now Dezea, which I imagine is pronounce "Dey-Sha/Dey-Za". I could be horribly wrong, but that's how it sounds to me.

* * *

* * *

The flight from London to Vancouver was nothing John couldn’t handle, being a seasoned traveller like he was. They were overnight in Vancouver, but it was good to have a bit of time to recover before hitting their destination. What was nice, and very useful, was their seats in First Class. It gave them plenty of room to spread out and relative peace and privacy. He suspected this little excursion was being funded by his sneaky, resourceful landlord and wondered why it didn’t surprise him that Gandalf would do something like this to Bilbo. It wouldn’t be the first time, would it?

John thought this trip was akin to coming home before he arrived in New Zealand, but couldn’t say why. That feeling only got stronger once they were safely on the ground and ready to start their trek. They started with a four-day trek in the Ruahine Forest Park that included a helicopter-ride to their starting-point and a one-night stay at the first of four DOC huts along the track. It was an exciting start to a very interesting trip, and John had an absolute blast hiking across New Zealand with Philip and Killian.

They travelled from Auckland to Christchurch, hitting a number of trails of varying difficulties, sleeping either in the tent John maintained as part of his kit or in DOC huts along the way. They visited places that reminded him so much of Middle Earth he had to keep reminding himself that Middle Earth wasn’t a real place. Maybe it had been, once, but it wasn’t anymore.

One place they visited was Denize Bluffs in Mangaotaki, and the minute John set foot in the craggy land, he stopped.

“Bilbo?” Philip asked softly, standing behind him.

“What is it?” Killian stood next to him.

“It’s … nothing.” He blinked, shaking his head. “Nothing.” He had experienced several moments of déjà vu during their trip, and had just had one.

“Why don’t we believe you?”

“I didn’t say you had to.” He muttered, setting off in a certain direction, away from the clusters of tourists and day-trippers. At an unmarked part of the trail, he turned off and headed into the undergrowth.

“Bilbo!” Philip called in a whisper. “What are you doing!”

“Oh, we’d better go after him.” Killian said, “Our heads if something goes sideways.”

“Come on.”

It didn’t take the brothers long to catch up with him and when they did, John was looking at a fallen tree that blocked the way forward. There were several such uprooted trees, and his nose twitched.

“What is it?” Philip came up beside him.

“Dunno.” He looked around. “If I didn’t _know _any better … ”

“What are you thinking?”

“Well, clearly these trees were uprooted by some force of nature. A storm or something like that. I know that.” John studied the fallen trees. “But if I _didn’t _know better, I’d say something … _big _uprooted these trees. Something _very _big, and … possibly quite dangerous.”

“Like what?” Killian asked.

“Trolls.” John and Philip said in unison.

“Mountain trolls, specifically.” He climbed over the tree in front of him and headed for the clearing a few yards distant.

There was nothing really interesting in the clearing itself, but as he stood in the boulder-ringed clearing with Philip and Killian, John had to smile.

“We’re standing in The Trollshaws, lads.”

“Sure looks enough like it, don’t it?” Philip sat down on a rock, looking around. “No trolls, though.”

“I am fine with no trolls, ta.” John rolled his eyes. “Last time I was in a place like this, I was trying to keep you lot from getting eaten!”

“And we haven’t forgotten it, either.” Killian looked around. John spotted the rock-face making up the east boundary of the clearing and grinned.

Before the brothers could ask what he was up to, he had scrambled up onto the top of the outcrop and was looking down on them.

“Oh, so _this _is what Gandalf saw!” He chuckled, “I always wondered!”

“Come on down from there, before you get caught!” Philip called up. John climbed down again and they explored the area some more, finding a cave that reminded them an awful lot of the Troll-hoard.

“Not going down _there_, ta.” John said with a sniffle. Even though there was nothing dangerous in that cave, he wasn’t about to step foot in there if he didn’t have to.

Their visit to Denize Bluffs was definitely among the memorable stops, but the whole trip was one of a kind. It felt like coming home after a long time away, for all of them. And it really turned into coming home when Philip declared a bit of a side-trip as they descended Tasman Valley towards Blue Lakes Carpark.

“Where are we going?” John asked, genuinely curious. They were meeting a shuttle to take them back to Mt Cook Village at the car-park, but they didn’t have much planned after getting to the village. And they still had three days before they had to return to London. From there, John and Philip planned to make their way to Sandhurst.

“We are going _home_.” Philip said decisively.

“I get the feeling you’re not talking about London.”

“Nope.” The Royal Scion just grinned at him, “We’re going back to Christchurch for a few days. We’ll leave from Christchurch International when we fly home to London.”

“Oh. Okay, then.” John shrugged, adjusting the set of his pack. “What’s in Christchurch?”

“The family that doesn’t live in London.”

“Parents?”

“Mm.”

“Oh boy.” John drew in a breath, “Are you _sure _it’s a good idea to introduce me to these people?”

“I can’t see why it _wouldn’t _be.”

“Well, are they aware of … Before?”

“Of course!” Philip just beamed at him as they headed for the shuttle-stop. The shuttle was already waiting, so they boarded, handing over the bit of paper that had their reservation on it, and found seats. Their backpacks were stored in the back of the shuttle and once everything was settled, they set off for Blue Lakes.

The drive to Blue Lakes Carpark was quiet and uneventful, John slept a bit along the way, and they picked up the car they had arranged to have waiting for them. They met a hire-agent and while Philip went over the particulars and signed all the proper papers, John and Killian loaded up the car, a Ford SUV.

“You know what I missed on this trip?” John said as they secured everything with the cargo-nets and protective wrapping.

“Hot water and a nice bed to sleep on?”

“Must be the Baggins in me.” He chuckled and shut the hatch. “Gentrified Hobbit and all that nonsense.”

“Yeah, but people forget Hobbits are a hardy lot.” Killian smiled and went around to the cabin. “Especially the ones with Baggins or Took blood in ‘em.”

“Thanks? I think?” John snorted. That was one way to put it. Philip told them to saddle up, it was time to get back to civilization. Whatever that amounted to out here. John got shotgun, Killian sat in the back seat, and Philip drove. John fell asleep somewhere between the carpark and Christchurch. He knew he should have felt bad, but he was too tired to care and it was unlikely the brothers would be upset with him if he dozed off like that.

The slowing of the car woke John some time later and he looked to see where they were. Philip was turning onto a private road, the beginning of some property separated from the main road by fences and an automatic gate that opened as they approached.

“This all belongs to your family?” He asked as they drove through the gate, which closed behind them.

“Mhm.” Philip nodded.

“How much land is yours out here?”

“Twelve acres. Belonged to Da’s family for years.”

“Still in the family, looks like.” John mused, “I get to meet your parents this time?”

“Yep. And they’ve been _dying _to meet you.”

“Yeah, I bet they have.” He chuckled. “Is there anything I should know about these people before I meet them?”

“A couple of names is all.”

“Fair enough.” He noticed evidence of horses on the property and wondered if the family kept them. This could be an interesting little side-trip.

Philip’s parents (both still living) were Dezea Oakley-Grant and Theon Grant. Their Primes had been Lady Dís, Thorin Oakenshield’s sister and youngest of three siblings, and her husband Thesgral Graybeard.

“Don’t tell me it’s the whole _family_!” John groaned and leaned his head back, “You have to be kidding me!”

“Nope!” Killian leaned over the back of his seat and grinned. “The whole Line of Durin! Uncle Thorin and Uncle Frerin, too!”

“Oh great.” He put his feet up on the dash and retied his bootlaces.

“You’ll be _fine_, Bilbo,” Philip promised, reaching over to pat him on the leg. “They’re going to love you.”

“You don’t know that.” He muttered. “They don’t _know _me.”

“Stop it.” Philip scolded. The rest of the drive was quiet, but not uncomfortable, and John saw several horses behind the livestock fences. Well, he’d been right about that.

After a few more minutes of a remarkable scenic drive, they stopped and John looked out at the house. It was a modest, one-storey bungalow, but clearly a family home. There was a garage to one side, and any evidence he needed that there was someone at home was obvious by the open garage-door and the cars parked on the property. John noticed that the vehicles he could see were rather practical, including a beat-up old pickup truck and an SUV. But there was also a motorcycle. Not so practical.

“Whose motorcycle?” He asked.

“Oh, look at that.” Killian leaned up against his seat again. “Uncle Frerin’s here.”

“That’s your mum’s brother?” John wasn’t sure why he posed that as a question, he knew the names of nearly every single member of that family. Including the ones there wasn’t much information available on, like Thorin’s siblings and extended family beyond his nephews and those members of his Company that had been nearer kin to him.

“Mhm. Younger of the two.”

“And the SUV is your mum’s car, I take it?”

“Yep. The truck’s for looking after the horses.”

“No sign of Da, though.”

“Oh, he’s not gone _again_, is he?” Killian wore a disgusted look on his face.

“He’ll be home later. He promised.” Philip reassured his brother as he parked.

“What’s your dad do? Did I ever ask?”

“He’s a pilot, like yours.” Philip looked at him as they got out and went to retrieve their packs from the back of the car. “But instead of flying military helis, he flies med-evac and SAR.”

“He’s a medic?”

“Yep. Flight-medic.”

“Nice.” John handed Philip his pack and grabbed his own before Killian could get it.

“Oi!”

“I can damn well carry my own gear, Kíli, you just shove off.” He said bluntly, ignoring the injured look on the younger brother’s face and the snickering of the elder.

“He’s trying to be helpful, Bilbo, no need to be rude.” Philip was beaming. John rolled his eyes and shoved an elbow into Philip’s ribs.

“Fuck you, Durin.”

“Ooh, already did, my love.” Philip sing-songed. “Twice!”

“Would anyone miss him?” He grumbled as they carried their kits through the garage to a utility room.

“Unfortunately,” Killian muttered.

“Boys!” A voice from the kitchen startled all three of them and they all froze.

“Uh oh.”

“I _know _I taught you better manners than that!”

“Lady Dís?” John already knew the answer, but he still had to ask.

“Yep.”

“Oh boy.”

“Fíli, Kíli, you show yourselves right this minute!” The Durin matriarch snapped, “Is that _any _way to treat your friends? Let alone treat each other! For Durin’s sake, you two!”

Looking appropriately shame-faced, but not _as _shame-faced as they probably should have, the three of them entered the kitchen through the door leading from the utility room into the kitchen. Even if John had never heard of Lady Dís, or Dezea Oakley-Grant, there was no mistaking the woman who stood by the range with her arms across her chest for anyone but a Durin. She looked enough like Thorin Oakenshield, it was obvious they were closer kin than cousins.

“Well, that’s more like it!” She gave her sons a stern look, “Now, where are your manners, you two?”

“Sorry, Mum.”

“I’ll show you properly sorry.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement, so she wasn’t _too _upset with them.

“Yes’m.”

“So, I heard three of you. Who’s the unfortunate you two idiots dragged home, then?”

“Uh. Well,” Philip looked over his shoulder at John, who had observed the family dynamic without saying a word. “You never had a chance to meet Bilbo Baggins, did you?”

“No, unfortunately, but Durin knows I heard plenty from the three of you while you were gone and from those brothers after.”

“You wrote _letters _about me!” John wasn’t quite as surprised as he maybe should have been.

“Oh!” Well, now Dezea knew he was in her house. She turned from her sons and completely ignored them.

“Oh, _Bilbo_! Of course, oh, you look just like your pictures!”

“Brace yourself,” Philip muttered a split-second before he was yanked into a bone-creaking hug that nearly lifted him clear of the floor. He hated being picked up, he always had, but he had forgotten just how _strong _Dwarves could be.

“Well, aren’t you a handsome young thing!” Dezea pushed him back at arm’s length and looked him over, “I can see why my brother was so very fond of you! It’s lovely to finally _meet _you!”

“I think the pleasure is _mine_, Lady Dís.” He gave her a charming smile. “And apologies for my terrible manners.”

“Oh, you can blame that on my sons! They’re a terrible influence!”

“So were my Took ancestors.” John looked at the boys and chuckled. “Not quite “respectable”, them.”

“Tsh. No matter!” Dezea made a dismissive sound. “You’re as good as family to us, you know!”

“I keep hearing that.” He took another hug, this one didn’t quite lift him off his feet, just glad she seemed to _like _him. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Oh, absolutely! It’s a pleasure having company.” She smiled and looked at her sons. “It’s not very often the boys visit anymore.”

“Not just your sons?”

“Mm, no. That scoundrel brother of mine makes himself despicably scarce.”

“Thorin?” John just _had _to ask. And it was worth the look she gave him.

“Speaking of having no manners.” Dezea rolled her eyes, “Or any good sense, for that matter!”

“Well, no one ever said he was the smartest did they?”

“No! He never had any common sense, or enough sense in him to keep himself out of trouble!”

“Oh, so it wasn’t just me?”

“Why do you think Balin followed him everywhere!” The look of utter exasperation was so funny John almost burst out laughing. “But that’s Dwalin’s job these days, so at least _one _of the Brothers Lin is keeping _my _brother out of trouble. Or trying to.”

“I remember them.” John smiled, “Dwalin was the first to visit my house at Bag End that night. The first of thirteen total strangers I was _not _expecting.”

“And Balin followed?”

“About half an hour after, and they were followed _very _quickly by your sons.”

“And my brother was last to arrive?”

“Said he’d lost his way twice just trying to find the place. Which means he either didn’t have a map, or just a terrible sense of direction.”

“Terrible sense of direction.” Philip and Killian said in unison.

“Sounds like Thorin.”

“God knows _how _he missed my house. I mean, there was a bloody glowing _rune _carved into the door!” He was a still a little cross with Gandalf about that, even all this time after the fact. The boys snickered.

“Don’t _laugh_, Kee, it’s not that funny.”

“Oh, you’re no fun!”

“Enough, all of you.” Dezea chuckled, squeezing John’s shoulder. “You’ve all had a very long, very interesting trip. Go get cleaned up and relax a bit.”

“Yes’m.”

So, off they went to take a shower, put on really clean clothes for the first time in weeks, and crash. John took a hot shower, wasting as much time as he felt safe, changed into a tee-shirt and boxers, and retreated to the guest room that was his for the duration of their short stay. He crawled under clean, soft sheets and dragged the quilt over his head. Sleeping in a real bed would be a long-missed luxury, and John knew he was safe in this house.

* * *

* * *


	14. Future's Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John sets off on the next stage of his training with Philip Duran for company. It's been a crazy few months, but it all paid off and he's heading for a promising future. If only he knew how or where to find Thorin. Or anyone else, for that matter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's super short, but I didn't want to spend too much time on John and Fili at Sandhurst. Bit of a time-skip in the next chapter, but I want to get to the fun stuff.

* * *

* * *

After a three-day break in Christchurch with the Durins, John and the brothers bade farewell to New Zealand and returned to England. It felt very strange to return to civilization as it existed in London. There was a sense of melancholy, but also anticipation. One chapter of John’s life had closed and a new one was beginning, and what an ending. If the New Zealand expedition turned out to be his last true adventure, it was one hell of a way to close out his days of independence.

John planned to go to the train-station with Philip to make their way to RMAS, but those plans changed last minute. They were picked up early the morning they were to report to Sandhurst by Major Sholto. Sholto, of course, was less than forthcoming with any useful information. John and Philip just looked at each other and shrugged. Sholto ultimately drove them to the London Heliport, which was a solid three-hour drive from Grantham, which wasn’t much of a surprise to the boys.

“We seem to be spending an awful lot of time here, don’t we?” John looked over at Philip as they got out near the helipads.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Philip just wiggled his eyebrows at John. “Come on, Bilbo, we’ve got business in Sandhurst.” John shook his head and took one of two drop-bags from the boot of Sholto’s car, tossing the other to Philip. They took a minute to get dressed and tossed the empty kits back into the boot before heading for the helipads and the heli they could see waiting for the go-ahead for departure.

“Well, I guess your da’s keeping himself busy while he’s on leave.” Philip murmured as they waved to the pair standing by the chopper.

“He doesn’t mind, though. It’s technically still work, so I don’t know if that counts or not.” John shrugged, adjusting his grip on the helmet tucked under one arm. “I’m not actually sure if he’s on leave or just between deployments.”

“Maybe he’s on a home-deployment, then?”

“I think so. But it could be anything.” He had stopped wondering what exactly his father did years ago.

With Sholto bringing up the rear, they reached his da’s heli and greeted Jacob and Simon, who both reassured them that this was no imposition and if they were ready to go, they had a schedule to keep.

“Did you leave Kili with Hannah and Bodie?” Jacob asked as they boarded.

“Dead to the world when we left.” John hopped into the cabin, automatically using Philip’s cupped hands for a boost. “Hannah made us coffee and toast before Uncle James picked us up, but she was the only one who got to say goodbye.”

“Did Bodie wake up for it?”

“She did, but I’m not sure if she really understood what was happening.” Philip followed John. “We promised to call as soon as we were settled at Sandhurst, and visit whenever we were able to.”

“That’s enough.” Jacob smiled as he and Sholto got the heli ready to fly. Simon likewise got the two of them situated in proper harnesses and gear.

“We’re ready to take off, lads!” Sholto called back over the radio. “You’d better get comfortable!”

_“Well, you heard the man.” _Simon smirked, _“Take a seat, boys, we’ve got a flight to catch!” _John and Philip just smiled at each other. With pre-flight procedures finished, John slid into position on the door-sill and held onto the oh-shit handle with one hand while Philip held his free hand.

The flight from London to Sandhurst took an hour and a half, and they arrived with time to spare. They picked up a hired car and drove from Frimley Airport up to RMAS. Jacob and Sholto drove them up and dropped them off at the proper location, wished them luck, and threatened them to keep in touch or else.

“Don’t worry about us, Da,” John said as he hugged his father one last time. “It’s like Bilbo used to say.”

“What did he used to say?” Jacob just smiled, a bit sad and still supremely proud of John for getting this far. And for his willingness to keep going.

“It's a dangerous business, going out your door.” John could almost hear his Prime in echo with him as he spoke, “You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to.”

“Well, that’s the truth.” Sholto folded his arms. “Take care of yourselves, lads, and we’ll be in touch.”

“We will. We’ll try.” John stepped back as a distant shout distracted them. It was time to go. With a final handshake, he and Philip collected their bags and set off to report for their term at Sandhurst. This was just one more step towards their future, the final step as it were.

* * *

* * *


	15. Out Of Your Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Watson has found the Army to be just to his liking, but he can't help feeling like there's something missing. Or maybe it's someone missing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, folks. The Big Reunion. Or, at least, the start of it. More comes later. I absolutely promise. The Good Ship Bagginshield has sailed.

* * *

* * *

Between the fall of 1998 and the summer of 2003, John saw plenty of the world and reconnected with a few more of his Dwarven companions. He found Oin and the Brothers Lin rather quickly. They were all excited to see him and wanted to know how he was doing, what he was up to. And despite word spreading to Thorin by different channels, he never actually encountered his oldest friend.

While reconnecting with Thorin’s Company, John made time to take ancillary training. It took several months, but he successfully completed his training as a helicopter pilot. Not that he ever had any intentions of actually being at the stick of one, of course. But Jacob and Sholto just looked at each other and smiled when he told them. They congratulated him on his achievement and took him out to dinner the next time they were all together in London.

But things came to a head in 2003, while John was serving a deployment in Afghanistan. A call went out for aid from a platoon that had come under fire from insurgents. John beat a sprint from the hospital tents to the airfield, stopping only long enough to grab his gear before heading out. He was the first to report to the heli, and if he felt relief upon recognizing the men standing by the waiting bird, he showed none of it.

“Feel like driving this time, son?” Jacob Watson asked with a grin. 

“No, sir, not this time.” He said, tossing off a proper salute even as he buckled on his helmet and double-checked the rest of his gear.

“One of these days, Jack, one of these days.” Sholto shook his head.

“Not today, Uncle James.” He looked over his shoulder as he climbed into the heli.

It didn’t take long for the rest of the team to show up, and they launched as soon as everyone was situated. John sat in the door-sill, feet resting on the skids of the chopper. As they flew fast over the desert, he realized that this was actually the first time he was doing this in a legitimate rescue operation. He had spent so much time in the past riding along for the hell of it, but all of his training was about to become very useful.

The flight out to reach the location passed without much fuss, but they ran into trouble pretty quickly as they came upon the ambush-site. Gunfire rattled off the windows and body of the helicopter. Instead of making himself scarce, John pulled his rifle to bear, took aim at where he _thought _the assault was coming from, and pulled.

_“We can’t land in this!” _Jacob yelled over the comms, _“We’ll get destroyed! I have to get higher!” _

_“Roger, sir!” _John just held on tighter as they rose away from the commotion below. _“We can’t leave our guys!”_

_“We won’t! I’ll come back around and try again!” _His father reassured him as they swung out of range. John just nodded and tightened his grip more on the handle. Leaning out, he watched the desert fall away below his feet. They made three attempts to land nearby of the besieged platoon without luck.

_“Who’s down there?!” _John shouted, wondering who had called out like that.

_“Oakland! Torrian Oakland!” _His dad called back. _“Don’t think you’ve had a chance to meet ‘im yet!”_

_“Probably not! I’m usually flying med-evac with you and Uncle James anyway!” _John readjusted his goggles against the blade-wash and blowing sand. Oakland. That name was familiar, but he wasn’t sure why. Well, it was no one’s fault that he hadn’t had a chance to meet Torrian Oakland yet. He’d heard of him, of course, but there was knowing about someone and meeting them. But John knew there was more, a piece of that puzzle he was missing. He’d worry about that later, when he wasn’t getting shot at.

_ ******* _

The sound of rotor-blades heralded reinforcements and help, and Torrian Oakland raised his head enough to look up.

“That’s Watson!” Davin Lindsey shouted, leaning close.

“Are you sure, Dwalin?!”

“That’s his chopper! I recognize the marks!” The man who had been with him longer than anyone remembered or realized smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. Torrian just nodded and took a grenade from one of his nephews. Pulling the pin, he launched it hard at the approximate location of the assailants, listening as it exploded in the midst of the chaos. He couldn’t see where it land, between the smoke and the dust obscuring much of the madness.

Jacob Watson was one of the finest pilots he’d ever met, skilled at flying dangerous conditions just like this. But it didn’t surprise Torrian that Jacob was so good at what he did. After all, the man _was _the Second Scion of Boromir of Gondor, Captain of the White Tower. Torrian was, himself, the First Scion of Thorin Oakenshield. Which reminded him. Another Scion had been discovered recently and rumour had it the Scion was one of his Company. Asking had gotten him nothing but sly smiles and knowing looks. Not even asking the Sons of Denethor had done him any good! And they were usually his best resources! Something was up. Had Bilbo come back again? And if he had, maybe Torrian would have better luck this time?

A fresh burst of gunfire pulled him back to the present and he cursed under his breath. Torrian realized that if they didn’t do something, they would need rescue for the rescue. Plans formulated and dissolved faster than most people could breathe, but he knew what had to be done. Grabbing Lindsey by the bicep, he scrambled to his feet and ran for the munitions stashed in the overturned truck four yards behind them.

“Fili! Kili! Clear an LZ!!” He yelled to his nephews, who just nodded and went off to clear a space for the purpose.

Using the truck as a barricade, he and Lindsey set up a few rocket launchers and mortars. Distracting the insurgents was almost too easy, but it gave the heli the clearance it needed to at least _try _to touch down. They watched, waited, fretted. A scattering of gunfire kept the bird from landing, but

he knew Jacob and James wouldn’t leave them to rot. Suddenly, the heli made it’s lowest pass yet, swung around on a banking turn most pilots never dared on a routine flight.

“What are they doing?” Lindsey growled as they doubled their efforts.

Torrian was aware of a commotion in the heli and watched a dark shape drop from the skids. He thought the worst had happened and made a call to the hovering heli, hoping to god this hadn’t just gone horribly wrong.

_“Boromir! What’s going on up there!”_

_“Sorry about the trouble, Thorin. I can’t land this thing in the kind of heat I’m getting from the orcs.”_

_“Did you _lose _someone?” _He asked, looking for any sign of the fallen figure. But the dust and smoke obscured most of the field beyond their barricade and he couldn’t see anything. The boys didn’t have anything, either.

_“No? I think all my team is accounted for, old friend.” _

_“You might want to double-check on your headcount, Boromir!” _

_“Roger that, Major.” _And it was all he could ask of them. He was dead certain someone had fallen out of that chopper and he would never forgive himself if one of Jacob’s people had gotten hurt or killed because of this.

*******

Meanwhile, up in the heli, John Watson was getting ready to do something really, _really _stupid. But, if anyone asked, he could blame this one on Mitchell Simon. They couldn’t land in the gunfire, it was too dangerous, but someone could certainly abseil. And John had done enough waiting. There were injured soldiers down there, people needed his help. He wasn’t a field surgeon for kicks, was he? It wasn’t like he’d joined the 3 Medical Regiment, attached to his dad’s unit in the 102 Logitics Corps, because they’d made him do it. He had a medical license, and better things to do with it than organize bandages and surgical kits all day.

A tug on his shoulder-strap got his attention and he looked at Simon, who tapped the side of his helmet and grinned. Time to go, then. Flashing Simon a thumbs-up and a sly grin of his own, John kicked out the coil of rope and took a minute to gauge the distance.

_“Keep ‘em spittin’, Gunny!” _He shouted to the team’s door-gunner, who looked at him like he’d grown another two heads.

_“What are you doing, Watson!” _

_“Da, can you get us any lower?” _He ignored Brian Dormer for a minute. In response, his dad made another banking turn and dropped a little more.

_“That’s are close as I can get ‘er, son! Gotta go now!”_

_“Yes, sir!” _He saluted before grabbing the rope and kneeling on the doorsill, back to the door. With a last salute to Simon, he tipped over backwards and dropped out of the helicopter. As soon as he hit solid ground, he dropped into a tuck-and-roll. Making himself a scarce target, he unclipped from the rope and called up for the heli to clear out.

With his kit over one shoulder, his rifle over the other, and his Browning ready to fire in his right hand, John got up on one knee. An overturned Panther rested about four feet to his left, he was side-on to the truck and could see both ahead and behind. Two men, likely the platoon commanders, hunkered behind the truck, waiting out the assault. But from ahead, the insurgents had made an advance.

_“Da, trouble at twelve!” _He yelled over the radio. They couldn’t land, but they could definitely make strafing runs, and John watched the heli come in for just that purpose. Using the gun-run for cover, John ran for the overturned truck and climbed up over the side of it. The last strafing-run finished off the insurgents and drove them into retreat, so John was safe sitting on the frame of the truck.

“Well, well, why am I not surprised?” He chuckled and leaned his elbows on his knees. “Get into a little trouble there, old man?”

“Watson! You scoundrel!” His old friend just looked up at him and beamed, “Was that you?”

“Was what me?”

“Some idiot jumped or fell out of your old man’s bird!”

“Oh, I didn’t fall.” John grinned, “I jumped.”

“You did _what_?” Davin Lindsey’s companion, the company commander, looked up at him like he’d grown another two heads. That happened a lot, actually. John was kind of used to getting that reaction out of people.

“I jumped!”

“Out of a helicopter.” Torrian Oakland’s expression said so much.

“Yep.”

“In mid-flight.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Christ, you must be mad, son!”

“Maybe.” He chuckled and looked at Lindsey, who had been _very _careful to use his given name, not his Past Life name. That usually happened if they were around someone who _didn’t _know about John’s Past Life or who his Prime was.

“You should hear what that one calls me on a _good _day, sir.” John said gleefully, kicking his heels against the wrecked frame of the Panther.

“What, besides a pain in my arse?” Lindsey cackled, “Which you are, on both good days _and _bad ones!”

“Who’s good day?” He beamed, “Mine or yours?”

“Oh, no you don’t!” Lindsey shook his head! “Mad Baggins! Mad, I tell you!”

“See? What’d I say? He calls me Mad Baggins when he feels like it” John leaned back a little. “In my defense, I never claimed any good sense.”

“Mad Baggins.” Oakland repeated the nickname and John shared a look with Lindsey. He raised an eyebrow and cocked his head in Oakland’s direction. He had the sneaky suspicion he’d just saved Thorin Oakenshield’s life. Again. Not quite as spectacular as the last time, but still a rather spectacular rescue. Lindsey’s grin just grew and John snickered.

“We’ve met before this. I know we have.” He grinned fiendishly at the baffled Royal Scion below him, not missing that the rest of the men had gathered nearby, the brothers coming in closer than the others.

“At least three times. More than that with the other two Scions before you.” Lindsey chimed in. “But never in quite such exciting circumstances.”

“Bilbo!”

“You’re slipping in your old age, Thorin.” He said as he climbed down from the overturned truck. “I can’t _believe _it’s been this long and you haven’t heard of me.”

“No one will talk!”

“Oh, that’s just shameful!” John looked at Lindsey and the brothers. “All this time, you _never _said anything?”

“Nope.” Philip just shook his head with a sly wink.

“Well that’s not very nice.” He wrinkled his nose and looked at the living Scion of one of his oldest friends. “How is it you never figured it out for yourself? We’ve had plenty to do with each other before now.”

“It never occurred to me that you were not only right under my nose, but in plain sight.”

The sound of rotor blades and wheels on gravel alerted them all to the arrival of further reinforcements and rescue and his dad’s heli finally coming in to land. John’s noise of displeasure was echoed by Oakland, and he looked at the older man. A wordless, mutual agreement was made. Later. Now was neither the time nor the place. Taking over with the medics, John directed the transfer of wounded and dead to the proper vehicles. Once he had medical triage managed, he took Lindsey, Oakland, and the Durans back to base in the helicopter. It was a quiet return flight, and he took care of a few scrapes and hurts taken during the assault. After patching up his friends, John sat on the doorsill with Philip and watched the desert pass below. The blur of monotone brown and grey, the rhythmic thrum of the rotor blades, was familiar and almost comforting.

But this was a very different flight from any other. John was lulled from his contemplation by motion to his left. A hand landed on his shoulder and he looked up just as Philip switched places with Oakland. It was unexpected but not that much of a surprise to him. He covered the hand on his shoulder and returned his attention to the desert below. He would process the events of the rescue and his daring actions more carefully once they were safely back at base. And he would have to debrief, of course. But once his obligations were fulfilled, he fully intended to make time for Oakland. It was no question the older man would be wanting to speak to him, it was simply a matter of time and place for those conversations to happen.

* * *

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> **  
Observant readers (and there are a few of you, you all know who you are) will notice that I've changed the name of John's father from James to Jacob. I did this for ease of story-flow and because I was starting to lose track which "James" I was writing about when James Watson and James Sholto were in the same scene together, as they nearly always are. So now James Watson is Jacob Watson and James Sholto gets to keep his name.  
**


End file.
